


Where Friendship Takes You

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship between an unlikey pair lead Blair and Jim to see the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Friendship Takes You

 

 

## Where Friendship Takes You

by Tazy

I think this is AU because I am pretty sure Jim wouldn't go for the idea of pets but I haven't seen all of the episodes yet so I could be wrong.

I think this could be described as pre-slash.

* * *

**SUNDAY**

He went sliding down the hillside, and although he kept his balance, he was essentially on his ass for most of the way down. Mud, rocks, grass and Blair Sandburg hit the trail at the same time. He had saved time going directly over the side instead of following the asphalt path, but how much?

Where was Coulson? He brought his gun up and looked right, then left. Nothing. There were sounds from the left, but it could be any of the others. Cops, forest rangers, sheriff's deputy, and even a security guard had all converged the moment it had gone out that Coulson had been sighted.

Coulson had taken off like a bat out of hell, and who could blame him. He was number one on the state's most wanted list, and was on the federal list too. Wanted him for bank robbery. Injuring the guard. For taking the car from the drive up window by kicking the pregnant woman out and onto her ass on the concrete. All bad. What had put him on the five o'clock news was tossing the child seat out of the car after her. Kid and all. Toddler and seat had been knocked a hundred feet down the inclined drive and into the road, where they ricocheted off a wheel and shot across the street. The driver that hit the car seat had been practically standing on the brake, screaming as he tried to avoid it. The security camera at the bank had caught just a few seconds of the drama, which had been replayed a thousand times by news stations across the country. The car had slid, skidding, the front tire hit the car seat and it went off like a pinball, changing direction as it hit the curb, then again as it hit the median.

The kid lived, although she had most of the skin scrapped off her legs and a broken arm. Coulson drove off in the car, and by the time the five o'clock news was over his picture was all over the nation. The hunt for Coulson had been going on four days. And as usual, Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison somehow ended up in the middle of it. They'd been driving back from a hike in the mountains on a Sunday afternoon, Sandburg fiddling with the police radio, and ten minutes later they were dashing all over a state park. It was a first for Detective Sandburg, three weeks a cop. His first official foot chase.

Sandburg decided to take the short way down again. That was probably Jim to his left, but the snapping-branches sound he was hearing was further down the mountain. He managed to stay upright again, but didn't avoid the tangle of vegetation that edged the next level of the trail. The leather tie around his hair came loose and was lost as he fought his way free of the thorny brush. His shirt sleeve ripped.

"Shit." Well, that was his first official bramble and his first piece of clothing torn in the line of duty. Not to mention the first nasty scratch. Shaking his arm to get the sting out of it, he ran on, skidding onto the dirt which edged the path just in time to see Coulson's blue jacket disappearing around the curve.

"There he is! Heading down, on the trail!" The shout came from above and behind. Sandburg silently cursed the idiot because, of course, now Coulson wasn't. The quarry plunged off the path again and into the scraggly forest. "Shit," Sandburg mumbled once more and headed after him. Got to be careful. Armed and dangerous, they'd said. A branch ahead of him exploded, throwing splinters into the air as the bullet went through it. Right. Armed and dangerous. He ducked and kept on running. The next shot was so wide that Sandburg figured Coulson was aiming behind, at the guy who had shouted. The sharp sound made him jerk anyway, and Sandburg hit the ground too hard, felt a little give under his foot as the rock he'd landed on turned. He jerked back to keep from twisting his ankle, hopped inelegantly until he recovered his balance, and then ran after the perp again. At least shooting had slowed the guy a little.

"He's shooting," Sandburg complained, his voice raised, but not loud enough to be heard by anyone except a Sentinel. "That was close. Jim, he's heading your direction, but watch out. He's a good shot." Or lucky. It wasn't fair for the bad guys to have that kind of luck. And dammit, the asshole was pulling ahead, his longer stride making the difference. Sandburg, in contrast, was slowing down. He was in much better shape than he had been a few months ago when he first walked into the Academy, but let's face it, you couldn't work miracles in just a few weeks. Time to join Jim in the gym a little more often, he told himself. Definitely going to have to, he added as he had to change directions again, this time using a slender pine as a pivot. Bark sliced into his palms.

"Shit," he said again, his hand going to his mouth. He pulled the flake of wood from his palm with his teeth, spat it out before he could accidentally inhale it, and gasped for breath. He saw Jim running through the trees to his left, heading for the path. Looks like they were all going to get to the curve at just about the same time. Coulson leaped off the path again. Blair and Jim followed him over the edge almost together, leaning back for balance but not heading in the same direction, separating as they headed down so that no matter which way the perp went at the bottom, one of them would be on his ass.

Coulson didn't go right or left. He decided to go straight down again, through the tangle of small trees and brush. Hoping that once he was out of sight he would have a better chance of escaping the officers? Fat chance. There were shouts from the left now as others of the informal posse converged on the spot.

Mr. Coulson's luck ran out big time, and loudly. There was a crash of dry wood breaking as he plunged into the thicket, followed by a burst of incredible sound that combined yelping, barking, screaming and a high pitched yowl. Just for a moment, Sandburg was thinking panther and wolf reinforcements. Then he scrambled through the fringe of spiky branches and could see.

It wasn't spirit animals that had sent the man rolling down the hill, but a skinny brown horror of a dog, all legs and ribs and gleaming white teeth. It was snapping at Coulson, biting and letting go in an instant, barking and growling the entire time as man and dog scrambled, slid and then and finally came up against a tree. At that point the dog took one last slashing bite and disappeared in a streak of flying mud and pine needles. Coulson was screeching, bleeding and wild-eyed, shoving himself back on his butt and trying to wiggle up to a standing position, but hampered because he was holding his bleeding wrist. Shouts came from the right and the left and his head whipped in each direction, his face taking on a frightened look as he realized they had him. Still, he managed to stand almost all the way up, backed up against the tree, wild-eyed and angry, and then he lurched to the left, still trying to get away. The long arm of the law, in the form of Jim Ellison, closed over his shoulder.

Jim had his cuffs out. Sandburg gasped out the words. "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the," a deep breath, then another, "right...." He got through it, but by that time everybody and his brother was converging on them. Jim had the guy cuffed and was marching him back up to the trail, where everybody stood around, panting like dogs and having a short jurisdiction argument.

Neither Ellison or Sandburg cared about who got him, as long as they got him off their hands. It wasn't that easy, though. Finally the argument was won by the highway patrol, who won by virtue of having prisoner transportation on hand and the most personnel on site. The Cascade cops gave their contact information to the intense young officer who was taking statements, promised to fax any further information required, and turned to leave.

Coulson was bleeding and cursing, everybody else was talking at once, shaking hands, introducing themselves, trading grins and stories. There were pictures being taken, both official and unofficial accounts of the capture. The small crowd of officers started to move up the trail, Coulson in the middle of them.

Sandburg headed in the other direction.

"Chief?" Jim Ellison followed his partner down the trail, but his tone suggested that he wouldn't be doing it much longer unless Sandburg came up with a really great reason why.

"The dog, man. I want to check on the dog. Can you tell which way he went?" Sandburg slowed, peering under tree branches.

"The greyhound?"

"Is that what it was?" Shaking his head at the memory, Sandburg lifted his head and tried a short whistle. "Here dog!"

"She went that way," Ellison pointed up the slope. Sandburg groaned and started slogging up the incline. "Why," he added as he followed, "are we tracking down the dog?"

"Hey, man, without her, he might have even gotten away. Or got in a shot and somebody would have been hurt. So it's a bitch?"

"I'm sure Coulson thinks so," Jim grinned.

"She did a number on him, that's for sure. I'm just hoping she doesn't have rabies or something, the way she went after him."

"That's what I want to do, hike around in the dark looking for rabid dogs," Ellison snorted, but he wasn't using his really-pissed voice, just his general grumble tone. He pointed, "that way. The smell is a lot stronger there. Maybe she has a den or something."

"It isn't that dark yet. And she deserves a medal. And what's a dog doing out here, anyway?" He didn't wait for an answer but said, "This is the way we came down. Talk about man's effect on nature!" he exclaimed, pointing out a stretch of hillside a foot wide and a yard long where the brown earth showed through pulverized vegetation.

"You sure you want to find her? You know what we'd have to do if she did have rabies?" Ellison warned.

"Report it. And Coulson would have to have all those rabies shots. Though I guess the new ones aren't nearly as bad as they used to be. Too bad, huh?"

"If the dog goes for either of us, we'll have to shoot it."

"I know. But hey, Jim. Would you be able to smell it? I mean, if the dog has rabies, could you tell?" Sandburg asked.

Ellison didn't answer the question, but made a gesture for silence. They listened, Ellison inclined his head to the left and they hiked up that way, still following the torn up ground of their original careen down the mountain. "There. Be careful," Ellison said, drawing his weapon. He had a puzzled look on his face. He had indicated a tangle of brush up against a fallen tree, and Sandburg was down on his hands and knees, looking in.

Very cautiously, Ellison got down on one knee behind him and peered over Sandburg's head.

"Aw. Jim, look!" Sandburg pulled back to let Jim have a better view.

She was there, curled in a tight circle, her head down and her frightened eyes white in the gloom. The sound she made was a warning between a whine and a growl, but she only gave a flash of her teeth and then whined again.

"Easy girl. Easy. We're just going to help you, here. Nothing wrong, it's okay. Good girl," Sandburg murmured, using a soft tone almost like his guide voice. The dog was not immune to it, and she whined again more softly, without the warning edge. Sandburg held out his hand to be sniffed, and waited. She touched his wrist with a cold nose. "Look," he said quietly. "She's got a puppy!" He pointed to the small body tucked up against her side and the curve of her leg.

"No," Ellison said, Sentinel sure. "That's not a puppy. That's a cat."

"A cat!" Sandburg reached in, but stopped as a rough growl warned him. "There, girl, there," he said, touching her shoulder. "Jim, she's all skin and bones!"

"She's a greyhound, they're skinny," Ellison told him, scooting to one side in case Sandburg had to jump back. "Be careful," he said as Sandburg reached in again. He put his own hand in at one side to distract the dog if she lunged, and Sandburg reached in and scooped up the cat.

"Ah, man, something's wrong here," Sandburg said at once as he registered how limp the little body was in his hands. "Ah, hell," he said, sitting back, cradling the small thing next to his chest. "Ah, crap."

The dog had crept forward and was crowding up against Sandburg's knee, her nose against the cat's fur, her wary eyes flicking between Ellison and Sandburg. She whined in protest again as Ellison's hand lightly rested on the cat's fur.

"God," Ellison breathed as his fingers, eyes, nose and ears all reported in to him. "He stepped on him."

"What?" Sandburg asked, looking up.

"That bastard Coulson stepped on the cat. That's why the dog went after him. The man probably never even knew he did it." Ellison shook his head in amazement.

"But that means the cat and the dog were hanging out together," Sandburg said, also amazed. "Two strays?"

"Maybe they got lost from the same home. Got out of an RV that stopped to camp." Ellison suggested. "Or they were dumped. I don't know. But the cat needs help soon," he said as he took his hand back. "That leg has a broken bone, and...." He didn't finish the sentence.

"Internal injuries?" Sandburg asked as he carefully stood up. The dog made a sharp sound and crowded his legs in protest. Ellison's hand went out and he gave the dog a reassuring pat and then he stood up too.

"I think so. Up or down?"

Sandburg answered, "Down. I don't think I can climb that slope and not jostle the cat. The trail will be best, even if it's longer. What's the next town? Big enough for a vet?" He was carefully easing down the slope, the dog glued to his side.

"Something-ville. Not too big. Might have a vet."

"It's getting dark and it's Sunday," worried Sandburg.

"Might have to go clear to Cascade. There's an all-night vet clinic downtown."

"There is?"

"Yeah. It got broken into at night so often that they just gave it up and turned it into an 24/7 facility."

"The drugs. Yeah, they mentioned at the Academy that heisting vet drugs was one of the hot new crimes. We're not parked near the trailhead, are we?" he sighed. It wasn't really a question, he knew they weren't.

"No. Look, want me to go ahead, bring the truck around and have it ready?" Ellison asked.

"That'd be great, man, thanks." Sandburg's attention was on the cat, who lay with closed eyes, breathing audibly.

Ellison broke into a trot, pulling away from them, and the dog swerved nervously but plastered herself back against Sandburg's knee almost at once. It was getting dark now, and colder. Sandburg hunched over and tried to walk faster, but it was not only uphill, but his muscles were starting to protest. In fact, he hurt all over, from his ankles to his forehead. About five minutes later he heard the faint sound of the truck starting up. Good sound. Soon he could see the flash of the headlights.

There weren't many cars left in the parking lot. The passenger door of the truck was open and Sandburg awkwardly climbed in. "I've been thinking," he said. "Unless we see a place that actually looks open, it's going to waste a lot of time contacting a vet, getting them to open up. Let's go straight to the one we know is open. What's that, an hour?" Sandburg asked. The dog had jumped in and was huddled at his feet. She shivered as the door slammed shut. Ellison reached over and buckled the seatbelt for Sandburg, which made her suspicious. She eased up a little as the truck pulled out onto the road.

An hour? Maybe longer. But what Ellison said was, "Okay," and he turned on the heater.

They didn't talk much as they went on down the mountain. Ellison was driving as fast as conditions allowed, which was about five miles over the speed limit, and Sandburg was focused on the cat. It made a small sound of pain once in awhile, and every time it did, the dog whined.

Down into the suburbs, where they had to slow down, and the stop lights delayed them again and again. At least Ellison knew where they were going. At last they pulled into the parking lot. Ellison went around to open the truck door, then ahead to open the clinic door. Sandburg, the dog on his heels, followed him in and up to the window.

You had to be buzzed in after the lady at the counter took a good look at you. Sandburg stood where they could see the cat in his arms. The door buzzed and Jim shouldered it open.

"The cat needs emergency help," Ellison said before the woman an the counter could speak. He frowned because the lady had picked up a pen and a card.

"Name of animal?" she said briskly.

"He doesn't have a name. He needs some help!" Ellison snapped, and the woman bristled at his tone and set down the pen. Sandburg sensed a time-wasting confrontation in the making and cut in.

"He's been stomped on! Tell the vet to hurry." His big eyes and the tangled long hair had more effect than Ellison's brusque tones, because she picked up the phone and spoke quietly. A moment later the side door opened and a young woman in a lab coat beckoned them.

"I'm Dr. True. Bring the cat through here. One of you had better stay out in the lobby with the dog. Is the dog a patient?" she asked, taking a second look at the dog.

"Been living feral. Will need to be checked, but seems okay. Doesn't want to leave the cat," Ellison explained as they all crowded into the small room.

"I need some room to work. You and you," she said, pointing to the dog and Ellison, "Out." As she spoke she gestured for Sandburg to put the cat on the paper-covered table in the middle of the room.

"Come on, dog," Jim Ellison said.

The dog didn't even look at him, and didn't budge. Ellison scooped up the dog and stepped out, shutting the door with his elbow and dumping the struggling dog at once. The barking started. Paws scrabbled against the door.

Inside, Sandburg was introducing himself and explaining how the animals had become involved in the state's biggest manhunt. Outside, Ellison was dialing it down as low as he could, and wishing the dog had a collar on. That was an idea. He left the dog pawing at the base of the door and leaned out to ask if one were available. The lady at the counter thrust a pen and two cards at him. "You are _required_ to fill these out," she told him. He got the idea, even with his hearing still down, and shrugged and began to fill them out.

"Dog?" The woman said, glancing at the cards when Ellison shoved them back at her, "Cat?"

"How would I know what their names are? No tags, no collar. Speaking of which, do you have any?"

"For the greyhound?" the woman asked. Ellison didn't point out what his opinion was of that. Did she think he wanted it for himself? "Here," the woman handed over a red one which still had manufacturer's tags dangling from it. No doubt the inflated price would be added to the bill. He made a face as he thought about what this would all cost but took the collar and turned towards the door. The dog was still making a major league fuss.

"Tight, but not too tight!" the woman called after him.

Like that was a lot of help. He went into the narrow corridor where the dog was, crouched down, and tried to get the collar round the neck. The collar didn't seem to want to go around the short, slick fur. Head like a snake, and she kept pulling back.

Down here, with his hearing dialed down to nothing, his other senses kicked in to compensate. Lord, did this dog need a bath. Funny color, too, brown and yellow stripes all over it, even on the nose and the domed head. The head looked small, the legs were all angles and bone, and the ribs showed, every one of them.

"Hey, dog, hey, dog," he said, but the dog didn't hear. She was focused on the door, digging at the line of light at the bottom, and barking that deep but piercing bark. Finally he did get the collar around the neck, only to have it pawed off at once, and the second time, he fastened it more snugly, high on the neck right behind the ears. It looked stupid, but at least it gave him a handle. He sat down on the cold linoleum floor, grabbed the collar and pulled the dog back against him. One arm went around the dog, holding it half in his lap there was too much dog sticking out half against him.

"DOG!" he said, in a deep commanding voice, and he pulled the head around so that he could look into the brown eyes. He said, "if you'd shut up, we could hear what was going on in there." The dog opened its mouth, but Ellison, his hand on the collar, gave a little warning shake, and damn if the dog didn't shut up. "Good dog," he said, and let his hearing up a little, one wary eye on the dog.

"So, this dog comes out of the brush like an avenging angel and lets the guy have it but good. I think they were both in the den when Coulson crashed through the top of it on his way down the mountain, and that's when he stepped on the cat."

"That dog bit the man who tossed the baby into traffic?" the doctor gasped, amazed.

"Yeah, so we'll want you to check for rabies and all, only she doesn't act like she has it, but we need to know for the report."

"So these animals have no home?"

"Do you know anybody who wants to adopt?" Sandburg asked hopefully.

The doctor sighed and said, "There are more animals than people who want them, Detective."

"It's just, I don't want them to go to the Dumb Friends or the pound if I can help it. Maybe I can get some publicity. Hero dog and cat. Get some human interest."

"That might work."

"I want them to go to a good home, and to the same one. I'm not sure why they were hanging together. Have you seen that before? A cat and a dog pairing up?"

"It happens sometimes. It's even stranger with a greyhound, though, especially if she were trained for the track, since their first instinct is to chase something smaller. The relationship never has time to get around to friendship, if you see what I mean."

"Trained to chase tin rabbits around the track?"

"Some of the trainers use a live rabbit occasionally. It makes the dogs harder to adopt, when they are done with their track career, especially to families with cats. You'll have to check inside her ear."

"Inside her ear?" Sandburg asked.

"Tattoos. Identification. Track dogs have them inside the ear. You can trace who owns the dog through the tattoo." She sounded like she was concentrating on something. "This is going to need an x-ray, I think, although this bone is definitely broken. I have to tell you, Blair, this cat only has about a 50-50 chance right now. He's about half grown and hasn't been getting his meals often enough, so he might not have the constitution he needs to pull through. I'll be frank, too. It costs money, and at the end of it all you might have is a big bill and a dead cat."

"I appreciate your honesty. And I can do it if you have an installment plan."

"Well, we do, but there aren't that many people who have an interest in a thousand dollar cat."

Sandburg gave a small choked laugh and said, "How long will he be in for?"

"If the x-ray shows no other damage, and he does well, he can go home in two days. Maybe three. The dog may have to stay a little longer for observation."

"Go home." Ellison heard Sandburg swallowing hard. "Home. Yeah. This is going to take some fast talking."

"Oh? Doesn't your lease allow dogs? Or maybe your wife doesn't like animals?"

She's fishing, Ellison realized. She wants to know if he's married. He waited for Sandburg to realize it, to start his standard impress-the-lady patter. But it didn't happen.

"Don't know about the lease, but we don't have a yard, and I'm pretty sure I know what Jim will think about it," Sandburg sighed.

There was a silence that was about a heartbeat too long. On his side of the door, Jim grinned as he realized the conclusion the woman had just leapt to.

"Oh. Well, I can recommend a boarding facility on your side of town. You could board them until you find a home for them. There's a brochure in the rack by the door."

"Okay. Might need it. Probably the kennel wouldn't let them stay together, huh?"

"Well, I've heard of two dogs from the same household sharing the same kennel but a dog and a cat, forced to share the same space well, just one disagreement and...."

"Yeow. Wasted vet bill."

"Yes indeedy. Excuse me a minute." There was the sound of a phone, one button pushed.

"Martha? I'll need an x-ray in a few minutes on this kitten. Then I'll see the dog. How about the Numbol's cat? I thought so. Okay, if you'll take care of that?"

The dog in Jim's arms made a soft sound in her throat.

"Now, where were we? Oh, about your greyhound. If you do bring her home, you'll need a crate. One of those portable plastic jobs. You can't leave them loose inside your home until you know if they're house trained, and besides, a lot of them have been raised in kennels and those crates feel like home, gives them a secure this-is-my-den feeling. We'll give her a bath, but you might want to give her another when you get her home. Walk her, then bathe her. Dry her off well and don't take her out until several hours after she appears dry. Oh, and give her small meals at first. If they haven't had manufactured food for awhile they gulp it down and throw it up again until they're used to it."

"Something to avoid," Sandburg agreed, and Ellison could hear him nod.

"Keep water in front of her. I think you'll be surprised. Greyhounds actually make good apartment pets, especially if they're not puppies. They love to run, but frankly, most of them love to sleep, too."

"Okay," Sandburg said.

Okay.

It was not Sandburg's usual enthusiastic okay. It was the okay of a man who knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep the dog.

And of course they couldn't keep a dog. The hours of a police detective were crappy, and Sandburg knew it. Sure, some days you got home on time and some days you missed it by hours. It was asking too much for any dog's bladder, and messes on the floor were asking too much of the sentinel.

Dogs were work. Sandburg probably had no idea how much work. Moving around as they did, he and Naomi probably didn't have a dog.

But that was also the okay of a man who wanted the dog.

And the cat.

Ellison did not want the dog. Or the cat. His sinuses were already a little congested.

The dog, warm in his arms. That dog. The dog who had her own strange companion and stood by him, and defended him. No matter what. The dog whose little buddy was on the edge of death and there wasn't one damn thing she could do about it.

This really stinky dog.

The door opened. The dog strained forward, out of Ellison's arms, but the cat had already been removed through the far door. The dog went whining and sniffing around the small room, looking in vain.

"Lift her up to the table, if you would," the doctor said to Jim. Sandburg was by the door, standing quietly. Jim lifted her onto the table, feeling her tremble in protest, but she didn't try to get away. "Let's look at you, you beauty," the doctor said. "The actual chance of rabies is extremely small, but if she's been living in the woods we'll have to be careful. How did she act? Any drooling, irritability? Strange behavior?"

"No. She's just worried about her cat," Jim said, and knew it was true. The dog didn't smell sick.

"She doesn't have any new or old wounds, her jaw is fine," the doctor said, half to herself. She got out a syringe and drew some blood. The dog didn't even seem to notice, only giving a little shiver as the needle was withdrawn. She checked mouth and nose, listened to the dog's chest, shone a light in her ears. She took the dog's temperature rectally, and the dog made no protest.

"I don't think she has rabies and I don't see any sign of ticks. I'll want to keep her for a few days for observation." She demonstrated how the turn the ears inside out and then said, "Our girl looks purebred, but there are no numbers, so she's never been on a track. On the good side, she's spayed. That usually means a responsible owner for at least part of her life, and gives her a better chance at being adopted. She's about three years old, and underweight. She'll need some good food. She'll need her nails trimmed later, and her ears and teeth cleaned. Right now we'll give her some basic shots and weigh her."

"Will she be able to be with her cat?" Sandburg asked.

"No, the cats and dogs are kept separate, I'm sorry." She gave him a sympathetic look.

"About the cat," Ellison began.

"I think we'll know how that's going to go after 24 hours. As I was telling Detective Sandburg, you can call tomorrow morning for the progress report on the cat. The day staff comes in at six but we don't take calls until eight."

"Okay," Sandburg said.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Ellison said, and went out and wrote a check to cover the expenses so far because he knew Sandburg didn't have it. He was waiting when Sandburg came out. The assistant handed the cards to the doctor, who filled in some blanks and handed them back. Not, Ellison noticed, before she checked the names and the address on the cards.

They said good-by and went out to the truck.

"I'm starving," Jim said. Then he looked down at his mud spattered pants, and over at Sandburg, who looked even worse. "Wonderburger," he suggested. "Drive through," he added.

"Okay."

Okay? Okay? Wonderburger and okay in the same sentence. "Sandburg, are you all right?"

"Sure. Except I think you'll have to help me dig this thing out of my hand."

"Splinter?"

"Something."

"You want the chicken sandwich again?"

"Don't get me anything. I'll have soup later tonight."

The conversation had progressed as they climbed into the truck. They didn't stop at a Wonderburger. Sandburg didn't comment on it, and twenty minutes later they were pulling into their own parking lot. Neither man said much as they trudged in and up the stairs.

They each took a shower, Ellison first, and then Sandburg. Ellison picked out a splinter from Sandburg's palm and then went to heat up soup for both of them. Campbell's wasn't Wonderburger, and Sandburg was going to complain about the sodium, but it smelled good. He made a stack of toast six inches high to go with it.

They ate it in near silence, and Sandburg look exhausted, so Ellison was not surprised when the kid headed for his room, even if it was only nine. Ellison flopped down on the couch, found a sports channel and settled down to mindless basketball.

Couldn't concentrate on it.

He tried.

But he found himself thinking about the afternoon. About the dog. About Sandburg.

Sandburg wanted the dog. And the cat, too.

And Ellison was actually thinking about letting him have them.

He even knew why. Guilt. He still felt guilt. Hell, he still _had_ guilt. He owed Sandburg. He had not trusted his guide enough. Then, Sandburg torpedoed his dissertation, his career, his whole life to preserve Jim's. It had been months ago. Things had worked out. Sandburg had attended the nine week academy session and his handgun course. He'd done his three months on the street, got his promotion to detective in the shortest time on record. They'd even let him keep his hair. Sandburg was a cop, and he'd proved it again today. The team of Ellison and Sandburg had busted Coulson.

Well, Ellison, Sandburg and a dog.

He thought about how it would be to have a dog. Dogs farted. Peed. Dumped. Shed. Drooled, some of them. And cats. Hair all over. Cats peed, too. And cat shit. Nothing smelled worse than cat shit. The idea of coming back to the loft to a day's worth of aged cat poop was just depressing. But maybe they could hire someone to come in every afternoon and walk the dog and clean the cat box. Only that meant having someone in his house. He was a little weird about having strangers wandering around his house when he was gone. He knew human beings too well, knew the impulse to go through other people's things, eat the cookies, check out the medicine cabinet and fiddle with stuff was a powerful impulse and even the nicest people did it. Then there were the people who weren't so nice. Joel had been complaining about a plant sitter who had pilfered a dozen things during the week of his vacation. It was just human nature. Something that was worse in kids, who were the ones who would have the time in the afternoon. Also who were probably the only ones they could afford.

But Sandburg wanted the dog. And the cat.

So he thought about the expense. Add dog food, cat food, shots, crates, cat boxes and litter, medical expenses, dog walker or whatever, and an extra charge on the lease for pets and they were talking thousands. Five thousand, maybe, the first year. For a cat and a dog. It was insane. No wonder there were all those dumped animals out there.

He moved restlessly at the thought and got up, taking his glass with him. He put it into the dishwasher and closed it and then wondered if he should just go to bed. But he wasn't ready to go to sleep. He turned his head, listening. Sandburg wasn't asleep either, even though the light was out.

The cat might not make it anyway.

Shit.

He went in to brush his teeth. Flossed. It could take a long time. If you did it right.

He found himself staring into the mirror. Looking at his own reflection but not seeing it. Thinking about why he was standing here wasting time. Delaying. He knew himself pretty well. He was giving himself more time to think about it.

About cat. And dog. Dog, barking at the closed door, frantic. Wanting her cat. No reason she needed a cat. Except she was lonely and cat...the cat must have chosen to stay with her. Cat had his own needs. Who knows what kept them together. Maybe in the clinic the dog could smell that the cat was near. Maybe that was comforting. Maybe dog fell asleep listening to cat's heartbeat. Maybe cat was coming out from under the anesthetic, woozy, looking for dog. Needing dog because he was hurt and in a strange place.

Huh. There was a word for that. Anthropomorphism?

Same root word as anthropology.

Wolf and panther and Guide and Sentinel. Dog and Cat.

Strange pairs.

He pushed himself away from the sink and found himself walking to the door of Sandburg's little room. He knocked, then went in. "Chief?"

"Yeah?" Quiet voice in the dark. Sandburg was on his back, but pulled himself up onto one elbow and said, "Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong."

"Uh huh." Sandburg waited.

"It's...about the dog. And the cat."

"Yeah?" Sandburg had a lot more patience now days. Dealing with the stupidity of the general public could do that to you.

"You want to keep them." Just to make sure.

"I know we can't." Sandburg's reply was said in a firm, even voice.

"But you want to?"

"Sure. But. It's okay, you know. I understand."

"It's a lot of work, and...."

"Yeah. I thought about it. Your senses and all. I understand, Jim."

But he didn't. So the only thing to do was say it outright. "We could keep the dog. And the cat. If you were willing to do more than your share of the work."

"What?" Sandburg sat up all the way. The covers fell away from his body. It was dark, but Ellison could see the expression on Sandburg's face. Hope made the face look young. Hope was beautiful. "But what about your allergies?"

"We'd have to clean more. Bathe the animals a lot. You'd get stuck with the cat box. Twice a day. As I said, more than your share. And it's going to cost the earth. But if you'd do the work.... And then there's walking the dog. This being Cascade, that would be walking the dog in the rain."

"Oh, man," Sandburg sighed. He was silent for a moment and then said, "Both of them?"

"Both of them," Ellison replied. "If the allergies don't kill me. And we'll find them a home if...if I just can't live with it."

"Where they can be together."

"Yeah. Together."

There was a silence. Then Sandburg said, "Thanks man. Just...thanks."

"Uh...we'll go shopping. Tomorrow. For stuff."

"Right. It's a plan."

Ellison stood up. "Good night," he said as he walked away.

"Night," Sandburg said.

Ellison went back to the bathroom, moved unhurried through the rest of his evening ritual, checked all the doors and windows and then went up the stairs to bed. His covers felt good as he stretched out under them.

Sometimes, at night as he waited for sleep, he went over a recent case, or he worked out the next time he should rotate his tires, or speculated on the Jags. Tonight, he spent a lot of time thinking of all the adjustments that would have to be made to allow animals into their life, and he fell asleep long before he was even half done.

**MONDAY**

Monday morning. Stiff muscles, not a lot to say, extra coffee in a super-sized thermos. Not much conversation on the way to work. Eye on the clock as they settled down at their desks. Sandburg was on the phone the minute it was eight o'clock. He reported to Ellison, "Dog appears in good health, cat holding his own and too soon to tell. Vets are as bad as doctors."

Ellison nodded.

If we're going to keep them, we'll have to think of names." Sandburg was pulling out the files they would be working on, firing up the computers, filling up their coffee cups.

"No hurry," Ellison said. He wasn't sure he wanted to name them until they were moved in. Until they had survived.

"True. Animals need just the right name. Catch their essence," Sandburg was saying.

Ellison nodded and started on the paperwork he needed to document assistance given to officers in another jurisdiction. On the weekend, on their time off. Paperwork. One for himself, one for Sandburg. He filled out the form, and Sandburg wrote the details out on the word processor. They made copies for their own files, faxed a copy to the sheriff, and turned copies in to records and Banks. Simon came by later with his copy in his hand and said, "You boys just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" but didn't stop to discuss it.

Sandburg said, when their boss was out of hearing range, "Don't even think of calling her Bullet."

"Huh," replied Ellison, who hadn't. Not that the name didn't sort of appeal to him.

"Or Dog. Or the cat Cat."

"Wouldn't think of it," Ellison said.

They worked steadily through the morning. They had lunch at their desk because they were waiting for a call from the D.A. Sandburg called the vet clinic again.

"Dog had a bath with flea soap. Cat holding his own."

Ellison had listened in, so all he said was, "Good."

They got a new case that afternoon and went out interviewing witnesses. Who killed the boss was one of those puzzles with way too many sides. Everyone they interviewed had motives and opportunity. But Ellison knew which desk in the office had recently held a gun, and Sandburg was the one who noticed which window was right above the big trash bins. A little creative dumpster diving and they had their murder weapon.

More paperwork, and then they left it behind for the day.

"People names or animal names?" Sandburg asked as they climbed into the truck.

"You know what's frightening? I understood that," Ellison said.

"No dog or cat names, though. No Towser or Prince or Boots."

"Fine," Ellison said. "Wonderburger?" he asked.

"That's a terrible name for an animal," Sandburg said. Ellison punched his shoulder. "Besides, I don't think they'll let us bring in outside food for the animals," Sandburg said seriously. Ellison favored him with a hand gesture. Sandburg gave him one back. Not one Ellison knew, and so he just flipped on the turn signal. They went right on past the Wonderburger.

They went to the clinic and were allowed to look at the animals. Dog didn't even lift up her head when Sandburg spoke to her. Cat was asleep. The vet said they were pleased with his progress, that there had turned out to be no internal bleeding, just deep bruising.

They went home. Dinner was chili heated up in the microwave. Sandburg did the food, Ellison sat at the table and made a list. Every once and a while, Sandburg would throw out another suggestion. Most of the time Ellison would add it to the list. Sometimes he would argue and then add it to the list. Twice he managed to win the argument and got to leave something off the list. Not that he wasn't perfectly aware that there was always a new list, and Sandburg could be persistent.

So they went shopping after the meal, driving the truck. They needed it. It took more than two hours to shop, and then four trips from the truck to the loft to get everything inside. At Sandburg's suggestion they stored it all in Sandburg's room, leaving him barely enough room to reach the futon from the door. Sandburg dealt with the packaging, unwrapping, prying items off cards and snipping off price tags, while offering non-stop commentary and opinions on landfills, consumer education and recycling.

Ellison got his screwdrivers out and started assembling the crates. The things looked huge. The dog crate _was_ huge. Sandburg, joking around, even managed to crawl partly into it when Ellison asked for help holding the side exactly in the right spot while he put the bolt into place from the outside. Ellison finished the job, swatted the butt sticking out of the cage, jumped back as his revenge minded Guide dived for him, and they scuffled a minute before going back to work. By eleven there were two crates, one large, one small, stacked one on the other, and Sandburg was making his third trash-disposal trip down the hall.

They got ready for bed, taking turns with the bathroom, and by midnight Sandburg was asleep and Ellison was on his back staring up into the cloudy night sky, letting himself wind down, letting himself think about everything else there was to be done. They'd bought so much stuff that they needed something to put it all in. He was actually thinking about getting furniture for animals. Something to store kitty litter and leashes and food and toys in, something to hold the ton of crap they had bought today. Maybe one of those things with doors on one side and shelves or drawers on the other. Some of that stuff you assembled yourself, and he was going to have to get it bought before Sandburg decided to hit the second hand stores.

He was still thinking about it as he fell asleep.

**TUESDAY**

The next morning there were waffles for breakfast, and Sandburg had gotten up first for once and had them all ready when Ellison came down the stairs. They even got out the door early.

"Whoever has the real Sandburg? Tell them I don't want to trade back," Ellison said as they pulled out into traffic. Sandburg slugged him. And later as he sipped coffee he looked at Sandburg, who was leaning on his desk. One hand was cupped over the ear that was closest to the room because the room was getting noisy as the day shift came in, and the other hand held the phone to his ear as he talked to the vet. Ellison didn't bother to dial up his hearing because he could see by the expression on Sandburg's face that the news wasn't bad.

He looked at his partner and thought, so that's why I said yes about the cat and the dog.

Sandburg turned, caught his glance, grinned as he said good-bye and hung up the phone, and said, "Cat's trying to chew off his cast and Dog's been treated for ear mites."

"I'm thrilled," Ellison assured him, and watched those lips turn up in another full grin. He had to force himself to get to work. He opened the thickest folder.

But it wasn't the sort of thought that was easy to file away, and it was the sort of thought that sat around and generated a ton of other thoughts. So part of the time he would be thinking about why there were no fingerprints at the scene of the Tokapu murder and part of the time he would be thinking that he didn't really want to do certain things. With anybody. Even Sandburg. But those things sort of came along with the sort of thoughts he was having, didn't they?

But at lunch time he ate avocado and sprouts on some sort of Greek bread and watched how the sun stuck auburn highlights from the brown of Sandburg's hair and as he looked, his definition of beautiful changed before his eyes. And maybe there were things he could just, you know, try. At least once. Maybe.

And after work they went to the vet clinic and the cat glared at them through the grid of his cage while standing up on three legs, and the dog lifted her head when they came in and stared at them down her long slim nose. When Blair held his hand next to the chrome of her cage door, she touched it experimentally with her nose. "Good dog, good dog," he crooned, and she inched forward just a little.

They went grocery shopping and picked up the brands of food recommended by the vet and while it wasn't the most expensive, it wasn't the cheap stuff either and guess who got to carry the fifty pound bag of dog food up the three flights of stairs because the elevator wasn't working again? And guess who was carrying the ten pounds of cat food? Although Sandburg was also carrying the sack with the cans and the new, only-to-be-used-on-the-pet-food can-opener. And he did go first up the stairs. It was very interesting, watching Sandburg go up the stairs. When they reached the door, Ellison was breathing heavily and Sandburg, who wasn't, was teasing him about it as he fished out his keys and opened the door.

The stuff temporarily went into Sandburg's room again. The loft was a great place to live, but short on storage. They were discussing what was best to store dog or cat food in as they made supper, Sandburg suggested some plastic trash cans with lids or some bins of some type.

"Want to make another trip out tonight?" Ellison asked.

"Hey, tomorrow. Right now an evening of mindless entertainment is calling my name." So they gave into the siren call of bad TV and channel surfed and laughed and had some beers and went to bed early. Ellison lay in bed hours later, listening as Sandburg got up in the middle of the night to get rid of the beer. The sound of Sandburg waking up had pulled him out of sleep, too. His partner went back to bed, but didn't go back to sleep right away, and Ellison dialed down his hearing to almost nothing when it became clear that Sandburg needed his privacy. He'd always done that. Only polite. But now he lay in the hazy half-dark and listened to the silence that was his now, and wondered for the first time if he could, or should, dial it up just a little. Just enough. Wondered if he heard it on some other level, some other way--because always, when he dialed up again, it was over and there was nothing to hear except the lengthening breaths as Sandburg slipped into sleep.

He dialed up again, and listened to Sandburg sleep.

**WEDNESDAY**

The next morning they couldn't get through to the vet clinic when they called and Sandburg was annoyed about it but they had to go out to the suburbs and talk to a man who had been picked up the night before at the scene of a murder and when they came back there was a message waiting for them.

Cat could go home tomorrow. Dog they wanted to keep another two days, some complication involving a second dose of worm medicine.

So that night it was another buying trip and another couple hundred bucks out of the checking account and two more trips up the stairs. Ellison put together furniture, and Sandburg poured food into bins and put the softest of his old t-shirts in the cat crate for a bed, and got the cat box ready.

Ellison reflected, as his electric screwdriver made short work of the screws, that he was lucky he'd put in real doors to Sandburg's room a couple of years ago. Be good to be able to close out the cat box smell just a little.

Only if the door was closed the cat couldn't get to the cat box.

He frowned and set another screw.

Sandburg was talking as they worked, pouring out a flood of information. He'd been talking to pet owners all week, collecting tips and suggestions from everyone he talked to, and as a result, the furniture was not going up the way the instructions suggested, but according to Sandburg's own design. One of the beat cops had described in way more detail than Ellison really wanted to hear about the trials of having cats and dogs share space, and how dogs were so generous about helping to clean out the cat box, and about the really gross things that could happen to a digestive system that had ingested an overly large amount of clumping cat litter. So the litter box was going to be the enclosed kind, with liftable liners, and it was going on a shelf that was waist high and had easy access for cats and people and lousy access for dogs.

The cat's food was eventually to be on an even higher shelf, and the very top was covered with a square of carpet, and the whole thing was to be positioned so the sun from the window could fall on a sleeping cat. There were to be shelves, and doors to hide the bins of food, and drawers for combs and brushes. There was a door with a simple lock behind which Sandburg planned to put medicines and catnip. The scratching post was three feet high. They gave up and went to bed at midnight, not quite done because it still needed stain and a little finishing, but happy with the day's work.

**THURSDAY**

Cat couldn't be picked up until after work, and Sandburg was more hyper than usual all day, almost the way he was when Ellison had first met him. His hands waved, his eyes sparkled and just before lunch he put together the clues which let them bust a car-jacking ring. It was almost six before they got to the vet clinic. Sandburg got the armful of cat, the printed out instructions, the schedule for return visits. Ellison wrote the check and held open the door for Sandburg, whose head was bent over the cat.

The cat had not had a bath. Ellison figured out why, but it kept him from saying much on the way home. He dialed down what he could and volunteered to cook dinner while Sandburg got the cat settled in his crate.

The cat was not happy.

The cat mentioned it. Ellison winced and dialed down a little more.

"I think maybe the cat has Siamese blood," Sandburg said, and went to wash his hands and arms. Ellison figured out that meant the cat never shut up. There was some connection there to the way Sandburg never shut up, but he couldn't think of a clever way to say it and so he just went on with what he was doing. They had steak, and Sandburg made them save the bones for the dog, and kept back his last bite of meat, which he minced and carried in to the cat. Who shut up. Ellison started the dishwasher and went to see why Sandburg had never come back. He found his partner stretched out on his bed, pillows behind his head and cat curled up on his chest.

"I see we didn't really need to buy cat furniture," Ellison commented, pulling up the desk chair and watching Sandburg petting the cat.

"We could call him Panther," Sandburg suggested.

"He doesn't look like one," Ellison pointed out. Sure, the cat was mostly black, but nothing about it suggested panther to him. Besides, for some reason it didn't feel right, naming your pet after your totem animal or spirit guide. Disrespectful.

"We could call him Jag."

"He doesn't look like a basketball, either." Ellison smiled at the look tossed his way. "Rag, maybe."

"Ellison, you are such a prick. Get serious. We need names, here."

"Batman and Robin? Tonto and the Lone Ranger? Tip and Mitten? Beer and Skittles?"

"No," Sandburg said. "You are _so_ not getting the idea. I'm thinking more partners than, you know, the sidekicks thing."

"Siegfried and Roy? Lewis and Clark?"

"Also not helping."

"Pest?"

"Yes, but I forgive you. Sunshine and Shadow? He looks like a Shadow."

"You keep feeding him like that and he won't for long. And the dog doesn't look like sunshine. She always looks sort of depressed."

"She'll cheer up." Sandburg was rubbing the cat's face and the cat, whose eyes were shut, made a soft little sound.

"Are the two of you going to stay there awhile?"

"Guess so. Why?"

"Beer run."

"Okay. See you later."

Ellison grabbed his keys and went out. He didn't hurry. Still thinking about the cat. And names. When he came back with the beer, he twisted off the cap and came to stand in the doorway. The cat was now on the covers, with Sandburg's body sort of curled around it.

"We had our first cat box experience while you were gone," Sandburg said, looking up with a grin.

"I can tell," Ellison assured him.

"He didn't seem to have any problem with the concept, which is a good thing. Doug down in Records was telling me he's got a cat that gets into the cat box okay, but sort of misses the idea. And the cat box."

Ellison lifted an eyebrow to tell his friend that this was way more information that he wanted to know just now, thanks.

"Couple people also said not to clean out the cat box right away, that the smell reminds them where to go, until they get into the habit."

"Or some people are putting off cleaning the cat box already?" Ellison suggested.

"Uh, Jim? Am I supposed to jump up every time the poor cat goes?" He was half serious about it.

"Have to see how quickly it builds up. The smell and everything." Ellison took another swallow of the beer and dialed down a little more. Not to far, or he wouldn't be able to enjoy the beer. It was hardest to dial down smell and keep taste, they were connected pretty closely.

"I guess you'll mention it when it needs to be done."

"You guess right," Ellison agreed. "I was thinking. For a name. Shaman?"

"Huh. Maybe."

"I wasn't sure if it was, uh...."

"It's a generic term, you know. No problem with that part of it. But he might not grow into it. Be sort of strange to yell, 'Shaman, knock it off,' when the cat was busy unraveling the toilet paper off the tube and onto the floor."

"New house rule. Door to the bathroom remains closed at all times. Knock if you want to know if the room is being used."

"Except just after a shower, to let the steam out a little? Or else we're going to have conflicting house rules, because remember when you...."

"Okay. That works."

"Cooperation is my middle name."

"In whose fantasy? How's the leg?"

"He gets around with it pretty well, even with the cast. Looks funny. But he can't jump down, or up. Well, he can, but then falls on his little cat butt. He walked around the room earlier, checked it out. Poked his nose into everything. He ate some of the dry food and drank some water I put that down by his crate, on the mat. I was going to get him some canned food, but then I didn't want to serve up the whole can and you know what? You forgot to get the animals their own tupperware."

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Ellison said, eyeing the smirk on his friend's face.

"I did. They have them, you know, these little lids that snap on over the top of cans so you can store them in the fridge. I wondered if you needed something more. We could get the snap on top and then put that all inside another plastic bowl and lid."

"Good idea."

"Did I ever tell you how annoying it is when you say that with that sort of suppressed amazement in your voice, like you can't believe I actually came up with a good one?"

"It is a good idea."

"I figured there was nothing worse than eating or drinking something when you could actually taste the molecules of cat food on top of it."

"Thank you for that image another one I will treasure forever."

"Could call the cat Peru."

"Hop-a-long Cassidy."

"Don't think so."

"Laptop?"

"An improvement of about this much," Sandburg said, holding up his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart.

"Snuggles?"

"You know, kitten, your Uncle Jim needs serious help."

"I'm leaving you two alone now." Ellison backed out, beer in hand. From the sounds he made a few minutes later he was cleaning something.

Sandburg said, "We could name the dog after a warrior queen. Bodaicia? Xena?"

Ellison appeared at the door a few minutes later. "Keep trying," he advised, and vanished again.

"Hey, this is hard. I mean, do you know how many girl names just aren't available? Every time I think of a good one, it's a relative's name, or a girl I dated, or you dated, or somebody at work, or from the university, or something."

Ellison leaned his head back in and said, "I can see that might be a problem. Especially the list of the women you dated. I bet you don't even remember them all."

"I remember every single one and that's part of the problem. And no dissing the ladies. How about Emma? You know, Emma Peel?"

"All I can think of is Aunty Em. Which brought Toto to mind." Ellison made a face.

"So we agreed on one thing. Not Toto."

"Not Toto."

The cat got up and walked to the edge of the bed, eying the floor. Sandburg lifted him down. The cat headed for the door.

"You're keeping an eye on him."

"On the job," Sandburg said, swinging up and off the futon. He followed the cat out but sat down on the couch so that the poor beast could at least have the illusion of independence as he roamed. The cat made slow progress poking his nose into corners and under the couch, but eventually reached the stairs. After a long moment looking up, the muscles tensed, and the cat sprang up. The front legs cooperated, the back ones didn't and he fell back in a heap.

Neither of the men dared laugh. The cat twisted up, braced, and crouched. Before he could give it another try, Sandburg scooped him up. "Oh, cat! You're supposed to only have light exercise, and keep off the leg." He held him close and said, "Some things just have to wait until the time is right. But here," he said, and climbed the stairs with the cat, letting the cat look over the bar of his arm as Sandburg showed off Jim's space. He found himself looking around at the simple furnishings, the big neatly made bed. He didn't come up here often himself. In fact, except for the times when Jim had been sick and a few trips up with clean laundry, he'd never spent time up here. Cats, he knew, liked the highest places. He wondered what would happen when Cat put in a bid to share the space with Jim. The thought made him smile. Cat struggled to get down, but Sandburg made a soothing noise and went down the stairs again.

"You can explore it yourself when your cast is off. You'll like the kitchen better," he assured the cat. "All the good stuff is here."

"He's going to be fed in your room," Ellison said, with a tone that insisted that it was more than a suggestion.

"Right. But did you see the there it is." He scooped up a plastic spoon out of the drawer. Three minutes later the cat was crouched over his bowl of canned cat food, back to the room and eating with an intensity that hinted at a good many missed meals and a grim determination to make up for lost opportunities.

It was a slow paced evening, and eventually Ellison looked up and saw that both the cat and his partner had fallen asleep, Sandburg sprawled out on the futon, the cat sprawled out on Sandburg. Gently Ellison lifted off the cat, stroked him once, slid him into his crate and closed the door.

"Sandburg?"

The blue eyes opened and focused on him, then went darting around for the cat. "Huh?"

"Bed time."

"Oh. Good night."

"Get undressed, see you tomorrow and don't let the cat out."

"Okay." Sandburg stumbled off towards the bathroom. It was early but Ellison checked the doors and windows, turned out the lights and climbed up to his loft. He knew when Sandburg crawled into his bed. And knew when, in the middle of the night, the cat meowed until he was let out to use the cat box. And he knew very well that the cat didn't go back into the crate but ended up under the covers, snuggled up against Sandburg's furry chest.

**FRIDAY**

The next morning they were almost late. The cat wasn't happy about being left in the crate, even with food and water and a tiny tray of cat litter. Sandburg had to be practically shoved out the door, Ellison's hand up against his back as he looked over his shoulder. They ate sandwiches in the truck at noon as they drove home to check on the cat. Ellison let him out of his crate, Sandburg cleaned the litter tray, and they were back at their desks in plenty of time to have another case land on their desk as Simon Banks walked by on the way to his own lunch.

"Ah, man, this sucks," Sandburg said, opening the folder.

"What is it this time?" Ellison asked.

"Another of those dawn robberies. This means stakeouts just as the sun is coming up, you know that, don't you?"

"Yep." Ellison grinned at the face his partner produced.

"Not what I would call a major crime. Although I notice all the victims are women, so it's probably political, tossing it over here."

"Tomorrow morning. Today, we check out the late Mrs. Waterson's acquaintances."

"Oh, yeah. That case. The annoying one with no clues. Where's the coffee."

They headed out a few minutes later. When they got out of the truck, Ellison held up a hand and stood, listening. Then he got back in the truck.

"Hey, what is it?" Sandburg asked, pulling his own door shut because it was starting to rain again.

"You know, there's nobody home?"

"What, in the whole, what, sixteen units?" Sandburg asked, intrigued. "Everybody's at work?"

"They're somewhere. They've rented out the Waterson unit again already."

"That's fast. Guess we come back tonight, if we want to catch anybody. Or early."

Ellison said, "Tomorrow's Saturday. You want to put in a few hours comp time on this tomorrow? Better chance of seeing lots of people on Saturday. That way one of us can take off a few hours off when the cat gets the cast off."

"Good idea. Except for the early morning part."

"You can sleep in. I'll do it, then swing around to pick you up when I'm done. We can go pick up the dog."

"No, I'm good. I'll go with you. Cat and I are planning an early night tonight anyway."

There was a time when Ellison would have teased him about staying in with his cat instead of having a hot date, but the truth was, Sandburg's dating had fallen off after the dissertation fiasco. It had finally picked up a little. He now went out a once in awhile, had even spent the night at somebody's place a few weeks ago. The women still noticed him, even if some of them dropped the acquaintance a little quickly sometimes. Ellison remembered the way the vet checked Sandburg out a few days ago. Of course, shortly thereafter she'd leaped to a conclusion or two and hadn't followed up on her initial interest.

So what was there to say besides, "Okay," and start the truck. And listen to Sandburg tell him what groceries they needed to pick up tonight and how, as soon as he got a little ahead, he was going to pick up a digital camera, one of those that even did little movies, if he could afford it, and the way the cat had of dipping a paw into water and licking it off, which was what apparently had inspired the camera idea.

They stopped off a few more places, saw a few more people, marked some remarkable lack of progress down in their notes and went back to their desks. Paperwork, more paperwork. Some forms to file because there were two cases next week that needed Detective Ellison to be present in court at 1:00 p.m. On opposite sides of town. Of course. Megan asked them to a working lunch in the cafeteria and they had the salad bar and talked about Megan's lying witness. And cats. And dogs. Ellison politely declined Dingo, Mate, Pepsi, Booger, and Matilda as possible pet names and reflected that maybe he had better start getting some serious thinking done on the subject before Sandburg became enamored of something really strange and he had to go through life calling out, "Here, Poopsie Doodle," at the park. Or something worse. Rife had been telling about an old girlfriend who had blessed her poodle with the name Poopsie Doodle Poodle.

And Simon called a department meeting just after lunch. Nothing like a warm room with too many men and women in it, and then way too many directives, rule changes, and new laws. Not to mention that the parking lot was going to be re-striped and everybody would have to park out on the street Monday.

The last two hours on a Friday never went quickly. Today, with Sandburg on the phone most of the time meaning that there was only Ellison to do the paperwork they seemed to crawl. Eventually, Sandburg got off the phone and they headed out to truck. Right in time for rush hour, so they stopped at the nearest grocery store and bought food for humans and a cat toy and little neon colored plastic covers for pet food cans. It was good to finally get home. Keys in the basket and Ellison was left to put the groceries away because Sandburg was on the floor, butt in the air, in front of the cat crate as he squeezed the vertical latch and opened the door.

Cat purred. Sandburg gathered him up into his arms and nuzzled.

Could you be jealous of a cat?

The cat made a sound, and Sandburg made little soft noises back at him, and by the time Sandburg and the cat came out all the putting-away was done. Convenient that.

"Hey, Jim?"

"Yeah?" Ellison washed his hands and got out some hamburger. It was his night to cook and it was going to be some type of extremely fast and not very authentic Mexican.

"I came up with a name for this guy, if you agree to it. Based on the way he was exploring around yesterday. And on his whiskers. Our boy's got great whiskers."

"There's a sentence you don't hear every day. What do you want to call him?"

"Ruffian Dick."

"Sir Richard Burton's nickname at Oxford? "As long as he doesn't live up to the full potential of the name."

"Go looking for the Nile, sneak into forbidden temples and practice medicine without a license?" Sandburg said, laughing as he listed off the explorer's offenses.

"That was the sort of thing I was thinking of, yes." Actually, what he was thinking was that Burton made his name for himself despite being kicked out of Oxford. Academia's loss. But Burton couldn't have been an explorer if he'd followed the traditional paths. He wondered if Sandburg had ever drawn the parallel.

"And see, what I was thinking, if I named the cat. You should name the dog."

"So I can call her Rex?"

"No offense, man, but that name sucks."

"Sucks."

"Fraid so."

"You know, Sandburg, you're going to think every name I pick sucks, and end up naming her yourself, too."

"Would I do that! No. Really. Only I want you to be serious, about this. Got to be a name we can all live with."

"I'll think about it some more."

"Right. What's for dinner?"

"Burritos."

"Not the fried kind," Sandburg warned.

"Wouldn't think of it," Ellison lied. "Want to chop something?" He didn't think Sandburg would let go of the cat to help out, but the other man surprised him, putting the cat down, going and washing up and then coming back and grabbing the head of lettuce.

Turned out the cat liked burritos the way Jim did. With lots of cheese and sour cream. They caught him trying to shinny up the table leg, the look of concentration on his little sharp face almost comical.

"Sandburg!"

"Yeah, new house rule. Cat stays in my room when we're eating. But you can't blame him, Jim, it smells great and he's been living feral. He's stalking his food." Sandburg tried to gently pick up the cat. "Hey, watch it!" he said as a little claws sank into his hand.

"Nobody stalks my burrito," Jim warned. "Are you bleeding?"

"Yeah. Let me park the cat." Sandburg put a door between the cat and temptation, and ignored the loud yowling complaints behind him as he came back over to the sink and washed his hands again.

"Tell me again why we need pets," Ellison asked.

"You want kids instead? You know the theory, how pets are just a sublimation of the need for children?" Sandburg didn't wait for an answer, but said, "You know, it might be really interesting to see how the animals fit in to the Sentinel paradigm. I mean, protecting the tribe, Sentinel thing? How do pets slot in? Because, come to think of it, the Guide filled some of the roles that a dog would....Dammit, Jim, stop laughing. Companionship, I mean, and what would a Sentinel need with a dog? People used them for early warning system, to help them work or hunt, or for food. Keep the vermin down. Except for the hunting part, and maybe the vermin, these are all mostly functions needed in a village, and the Sentinel lived away from the village, from people. He was his own early warning system and had the Guide for company. So what if...."

"If you took a breath, and then maybe ate your food instead of jerking it around that way?" Ellison was looking nervously at the waving fork, but what he was thinking was that it had been a long time since Sandburg had been in this mode, that they had pretty much put the Sentinel stuff aside during the last half year or so. It was...nice to have that Sandburg back. Not that he would ever make the mistake of opening his mouth and saying so.

"Oh. Sorry. Anyway...."

"I have an idea. Why don't you go back to helping me think up dog names. Don't you think somebody out there, somewhere, named their greyhound Bus?"

"That is _so_ \-- you are not naming that pretty dog Bus!"

"Pretty? Sandburg, there is no way that dog can be called pretty."

"Some day you are going to eat your words, man. A few good meals and she is going to be gorgeous. You wait and see."

"Uh huh. Gorgeous."

"And if she isn't really, you'll think so anyway. It's like falling in love. Nobody thinks their dog is ugly. Or their wife. Or that's what I hear, anyway."

"What I hear is your cat."

"Our cat."

"I know whose cat it is. I know who is already wrapped around a little black paw."

"One word about being pussy whipped and I kill you. And stop laughing like that, you'll snort cheese up your nose."

Ellison ignored him and took another big bite of his burrito, coming at it from the under side and chewing steadily. He was the one who ended up finished first. They cleaned up quickly, let the cat out and ended up watching a Jags game sprawled on the couch, Sandburg with a lean small bundle of cat stretched across his lap.

"Dog is going to sue you for alienation of affection. You've stolen the heart of her cat," Ellison said as the closing music began. "Should I find a news station?"

"No, I'm crashing. Ruffy, too. G'night."

"Night. You taking a shower tonight or in the morning?"

"Morning."

"Okay. I want to leave by six." Ellison said.

"Oh, damn, I forgot. Okay."

Ellison closed up, turned out the lights, did a few last minute chores and as soon as Sandburg was out of the bathroom he took a long, hot shower. It helped his nose, which had been itching just a little. He dried off. It was dark in the loft but he didn't need lights and he pulled on a pair of boxers and crawled into bed, and listened, the way he always did as he got ready to go to sleep. It was as if he couldn't rest until he let his senses out a little, checked the area for any sound or smell or shadow that wasn't right. All he heard was Sandburg's quiet voice, talking to the cat as the man picked out clothing to wear the next day.

**SATURDAY**

Crack of dawn. Earlier. It was dark outside when the alarm went off in Sandburg's room, and he soon after staggered out for his shower. Ellison got up, dressed, and went down and let the cat out, scooping the cat up and dropping it in the cat box since the cat didn't seem to have used the one in the crate. The cat stared at him until he left, obviously unwilling to do certain things with an audience. Ellison politely went to see about breakfast.

"Oatmeal?" Sandburg peered blearily at the bowl Ellison thrust into his hands. He was all for healthy, but it hell, it was the middle of the night.

"Brown sugar and butter on the table."

"Gah." But he ate it, and they were in the truck fifteen minutes later, watching the eastern sky get lighter. They drove up and down the streets where robberies had occurred, looking for patterns and possible victims and learning what was normal so that when they saw something that was not, they would recognize it. There was a remarkable amount of activity, with people already at bus stops and lights popping on one after another in the gloom.

They stopped for coffee at eight and then went on to interview Waterson's neighbors, knocking on doors where lights were on or there were other signs of activity inside. Interrupting Saturday morning was a little different Ellison had never spoken to so many people in bathrobes. It was remarkably unprofitable and they went to the station, filed their papers and used the restroom before climbing back into the truck again.

At ten they were entering the doors of the vet clinic. One more check written by Ellison, one more armful of papers and record cards for Sandburg, and they were out climbing into the truck. The dog was wearing her red collar, which now had two little silver tags, one in the shape of a bone, hanging from it. Sandburg had brought along her red leash. She seemed reluctant to leave the building, but followed them outside at a tug on the leash, shivering a little in the cool morning air. She hunched against Sandburg's knees as she waited for him to open the door and she jumped in at once, settling down on seat between them as they got in.

"This dog looks about one hundred percent better," Sandburg said, throwing an arm around her as soon as his seat belt was fastened. "I have an idea. Lets go home, get Ruff and go to the park. Have some time in the fresh air."

"You'd be the one carrying the cat."

"Duh. We can have a picnic. Stop by Wonderburger and pick up a bag of cholesterol on a bun, and then go to the park."

"I'm being manipulated."

"Nooo. Hey. It'll be fun."

"So you're saying it will be fun driving down the street fending off animals who are trying to get to my lunch. I'm saying your definition of fun has seriously eroded."

"Hey. Their lunch, too."

"You're feeding Wonderburgers and fries, with a shake, to animals?"

"It's not good for them, but then, look. Not good for people, either. You share yours with the cat, I'll share mine with the dog."

"You are one sick puppy, Sandburg."

"Was that a catty remark, Ellison?"

"No. It was an observation. And I can document it." As they drove along, the dog decided she wanted a better view and stepped over to the window, slightly inconvenienced by the presence of Sandburg in that spot.

"Ow! Hey! Watch it! Paws! Ouch! Ooof!" The dog settled down, nose against the window. Gingerly, Sandburg reached down and moved a big paw away from the most delicate part of his anatomy.

"They walk all over you, Sandburg."

"Just drive, James. We could go home and have leftovers if you want. It was just a suggestion."

Ellison paused to give a short and pithy evaluation of the driving skills of the man in the car in front of them.

"You want me to move the dog and get out the notebook?" Sandburg asked from around a heaving flank.

"Maybe later."

"Appreciate that, man. Watch it dog. What's she looking at?"

"Dog, maybe. At the light."

"Oh. That brown one? Ha, call that a dog? _We_ have a dog. _They_ have a very hairy rat."

"They're both dogs."

"Don't listen to him, sugar dog. Just pay no attention."

"Make her sit down, Sandburg, I can't see out the window. Nothin' but dog butt, and that tail's a lethal weapon. Okay, better. Thanks."

"I really want to see. When we get home. When they meet each other again. I am going to be _so_ disappointed if they just ignore each other. But then I think, what do you expect? These are just animals, and it's not going to be one of those commercials, you know, running across the field, arms out, meet in the middle, swing each other around joyously. I mean, even people don't do that, really. Much."

"I can tell you that's probably a good thing."

"She'll go up to him and say,'hi, how's the food?' And he'll say 'not bad, what took you so long,' and then they'll take a nap."

"Before we take the dog upstairs, we all go for a walk."

"Oh, yeah. Right. And if she manages total elimination, I know who has to run up and get the scooper thingie, too."

Ellison smirked at him. They parked in one of their usual spots and slowly they walked down the block. Dog had her nose to the ground, investigating everything, and when she did squat, she managed to wet a small patch of dirt over by the alley. Sandburg praised her loudly.

Ellison looked pained.

"You're supposed to do that!" Sandburg said.

"Too loud."

"How did you know it was too loud for her?"

"Ears jerked. Heart a little faster."

"Cool. Okay. Softly next time."

They walked a little in the other direction when she tugged at the leash suggestively, and they indulged her for the length of the building before turning back and heading inside. She mildly freaked at the elevator, rearing back against Sandburg's legs as it started and giving a gruff bark of suspicion as it stopped. She had no use for doors which whooshed open, either, but allowed herself to be led down the hall. Her ears were up as they stopped to unlock their door.

She knew. She knew as soon as the door opened that her cat was inside, and she had the leash stretched tight at once as she strained in that direction. Her nails clicked on the hard floors and her nose was at the bottom of Sandburg's closed door, pawing at it, and she yelped when it bumped her on the nose as he opened it for her. He knelt and opened the cage, and sat back, watching. Ellison was in the doorway, leaning on the frame, also watching.

Her nose went in. Ruff struggled to his feet and his nose came up and touched hers . His paw lifted up as if he were going to bat at her, but he changed his mind and stepped out. She gave him a small, experimental lick and sank down until she was on her belly, front legs extended and the cat standing between them. A black paw came out and took a slap at her dangling tags. It made Sandburg laugh. The dog just sat, looking at the cat. The cat stropped up against her, batted the tags again, then sat down between her long dog legs to wash his back leg.

They watched the cat and the dog for awhile, but nothing much was happening after a few minutes. The cat switched to the other leg. The dog just watched him.

"What do you say, Jim? Wonderburger?"

"Talked me into it," Ellison said, and Sandburg got the cat's leash and the other paraphernalia.

Major production, getting into the truck, driving to the nearest Wonderburger, and going through the drive through.

"Hey, nice dog," the girl at the window said as she handed over the sack and the change.

"Thanks," Ellison said, and drove off, listening as Sandburg, in charge of dog, cat and sack, tried to keep them a reasonable distance from each other. They ended up at the first park they came to, at the first picnic table. And no matter how altruistic the animals might have been in the wild, Ruff only got a bite or two of his share of the hamburger before the dog helpfully finished it off for him. Hers had gone in one gulp. She was eyeing Ellison's, her eyes bright and hopeful. He gave her a discouraging glare and finished it off himself. Sandburg was more of a sucker and lost most of his fries to her one by one.

Everything gone except the shakes, they walked down the artificially wandering path to the trees, Ellison with the loop of the dog leash in his hand, Sandburg with the cat in his arms but with the cat leash attached and over his wrist, just in case.

It took them two hours to move about two hundred yards, and finally they gave it up and went back to the truck.

"Shit," Sandburg said eloquently as he slammed the truck door shut. "Who knew?"

Ellison just shook his head, strangled a grimace that had just a touch of humor in it, started the truck and twisted his head to look behind before pulling out.

"I have been seriously missing out here," Sandburg added. "And you know, I had actually sort of heard something about this but...I mean, I didn't realize that pets were such babe magnets. But maybe it's just unusual pets. Although as unusual goes, these are pretty normal, when you think about it."

"And kids. What's with the kids?" Ellison asked as he made a turn.

"None of them had dogs or cats at home, I guess. Besides, I think the appeal of having a non-judgmental friend who comes when you call and licks your ear can't be overestimated."

"I'm not going to ask how you know his, Sandburg."

"Our dog liked being petted, didn't she? I wish we could have turned her loose, let her run. I'd seriously like to see her run, bet she'd be beautiful. Did you see the way her stripes glow in the sun? Look like honey and caramel, all drizzled together. And she's a good dog, never did a thing when that little old lady kissed her on the nose."

"That was pretty bizarre."

"No kidding. And that name thing. We really have to come up with a name because talk about a conversational black hole. Must have got a hundred suggestions and they were all really, and I repeat, really, stupid."

"You didn't like Herky?"

"Once I figured out it was short for Hercules, I was still not quite convinced it caught our dog's character."

"She's not all that aggressive."

"But did you see how her lip sort of curled and quivered when Ruff made that pained sound?"

"I saw. She growled, but I don't think anyone could hear it but me. Sort of a sub-vocalizing, mumbling under her breath."

"She did? You know, if we were still doing the research thing actively, it would be really neat to see if you could piggyback your senses onto the dog's, figure out what she was seeing or sensing using secondary clues like her breathing and sub-vocal reactions. There's lots of situations where a dog might be able to go that a person can't."

"Not with her. She looks too different."

"Draw attention. Yeah. But you know, sleight of hand. Everybody's attention is on the dog, and the cops can tip toe across the doorway or something."

"Sandburg has theories. Sandburg suggests tests. Run dog. Save yourself."

"James, you are in big trouble." He went on, half talking to himself. "I can't believe I never thought of having you paired with a dog before. I should have had you apply for a police dog. Think of it. All those hundreds of creative obfuscations I could have saved inventing because all we would have to do is say, 'the dog gave the alert," or "there was evidence the dog smelled drugs, or explosives, or hell, anything! Whose going to argue with the _dog's_ senses? Dogs are supposed to have great senses. I am such an idiot."

Ellison changed the subject. "You keep calling the cat Ruff. For short."

"Sometimes. He's a rough and tough cat, aren't you boy?" Sandburg ruffled the cat's head gently, turning it into a chin rub as an apology for the liberty.

"I am not naming her Ready."

"Ah, man, why not! Ruff and Ready? And you give _me_ a hard time!" Sandburg made a strangled laughing sound which caused the dog to poke her long nose in his direction.

"It sounds like an Irish Setter. Reddy."

"Or, think ready, like, ready to run. Ready to go."

"It's not her name."

"Hey, fine. No hurry. What are we going to do this afternoon?" Sandburg asked.

"Wash the dog."

"They gave her a bath at the vets. You know they did."

"She smells funny," Ellison insisted.

"She's a dog."

"She smells like chemicals and cage disinfectant and medicine."

"Well, you'd probably know. So. Question. Ever wash a dog before?"

"Not a big one. Think she'll fight it?"

"Only one way to find out. But I'm changing clothes." Sandburg slung an arm over the dog. "Joel told me about dog towels. What you do is, when your towels get a little older they graduate to being dog towels and get kept with the dog stuff. Then when you wash the dog, you always use the dog towels for it, and that way you don't get a claw tearing out the hem of your best towel or have to have wet dog smell on your towels you use for your face. So, got any towels you want to sacrifice to the canine cause? I figure, six?"

"Six. Yeah. Okay. The yellow ones."

"Yellow? They look pretty new," Sandburg protested. Not that they had any towels that weren't in pretty good shape, but if anyone could figure out which ones were starting to wear, it would be Jim.

"Were wedding presents. I forget who sent them. Have a monogrammed E in the design. Caroline didn't want the reminder, I guess, and left them behind."

"The dog won't care. But hey. How about we never tell Caroline?"

"And the brown ones. They pill. Went to hell the first time I washed them."

"They're not as soft, either, sort of coarse."

They pulled into the parking spot, gave the dog a chance to stretch her legs, and when she peed Sandburg was not so loud with his praise, but enthusiastic. "Good girl! What a good _good_ girl!" Ellison's grin mocked him, but the dog plainly responded to the tone, looking up, her tail gently swaying back and forth. They trooped up the stairs. Cat, once let off his lead, went right to the cat box and used it, leaving Sandburg muttering as he cleared the results, double bagged it and took it away.

When he came back, he said to Ellison, who was in the bathroom filling the tub with a few inches of water, "We are getting a diaper pail."

"If you think that would work."

"Guess we'll find out. Doesn't she look miserable?"

The dog was crouched by the tub, looking stubbornly unhappy. She was eyeing the water and Ellison each in turn. She knew very well what was going down. Didn't think much of it, either.

She didn't protest as she was picked up and put into the water, although she started shivering. It wasn't from the cold because the water was warm. Ellison at the head end, Sandburg at the tail, she was soaped and rinsed thoroughly. Twice.

"That's our good shampoo!" Sandburg commented.

"I'll buy some more," Ellison answered. By the time the dog was merely damp, there was an entire basket of newly designated and really wet dog towels ready for the laundry. Dog was in her crate and seemed glad to be there. Ruff was asleep on Sandburg's bed, and had been that way through the whole thing. Sandburg ran down to the laundry room and stuffed the wet towels in the washer, ran up again just as Ellison finished scrubbing up the bathroom.

Why not, he'd said. Since it was wet now.

"Next time we do this, I'm in cut-offs and nothing else," Sandburg swore, coming out of his room after changing clothes. He threw himself down on the couch.

"Good idea," Ellison said, and went to change his clothes as well. Three minutes later he was sprawled out on the other couch, remote in one hand, beer in the other.

"What are we having for dinner?" Sandburg asked, during the commercial.

"What would you cook if you were cooking?"

"Green beans with almonds, and steak."

"Good plan. You're cooking."

"I thought so. Tell me if anything happens," he said, getting up to switch the towels into the dryer. Not that anything was going to happen. Both teams sucked. "Are you dry yet?" he asked the dog as he came back. She ignored him. "Way to hold a grudge," he said, and went to pull the green beans from the freezer. It was a simple meal to fix, and they ate early. They cleaned up and when Sandburg went to get the leash, he was a little surprised to find Jim coming along.

"You don't have to," Sandburg said. He had the pooper kit with him, just in case.

"I want to. I was thinking. What if. I want to catalog the way she smells, the way she acts. So I'll know when she needs to go out."

"Ooo. Good thinking."

"I was thinking floor protection."

"That, too. I thought I'd walk down Prospect. Fewer people."

"Also good thinking."

"You betcha." The dog was happy to be outside again, happy enough to almost immediately make a deposit. Sandburg found the scooper a pain in the butt to operate something like doing chopsticks with gloves on but he got the bundle tied away and tossed in the nearest dumpster and Ellison and the dog got down to the serious business of checking out the sights and smells while Sandburg watched them, saying nothing, but smiling once in awhile. Funny the way the dog would twist her head to look somewhere with that alert look on her face and a second late Ellison would turn in the same direction, listening or looking too. And with the same alertness on his face, although Sandburg knew better than to point that out. And sometimes Jim was the first to notice something and the dog would lift her nose as she checked it out, too. They went back up the stairs about twenty minutes later, all three of them looking in on cat the minute they got back. Cat opened one eye from his place in the middle of Sandburg's bed, gave them a look, and went back to sleep.

Sandburg stretched and yawned. "Early night for me. Night, Jim."

"Night," Ellison said from the couch. He watched the news while, with his ears, he tracked the sounds of Sandburg getting ready for bed. Sandburg being Sandburg, he was in bed but not asleep, nose deep in a book. When Jim got up for a drink he glanced in. Yeah. As he thought. Everybody on the futon, and it was a little crowded. Cat in the curve of the dog's body, dog at the bottom of the bed with Sandburg's legs on one side.

"Want me to put them to bed for the night?" Ellison asked.

"Guess we have to." Sandburg sighed as Ellison gently scooped up the cat and slid him into his cage. Then Jim held open the door of the dog crate.

The dog very slowly eased off the bed and over to the crate. She sort of slunk. Obviously she wanted to stay on the bed, and she looked backward once as if asking Sandburg if she really had to do it.

"Go on," he said encouragingly.

Once she was in, she lay down, staring out at the bed and Sandburg with big eyes.

"Aww."

"Don't even think of it, Sandburg."

"Well, no. Of course not. Not until they get some routine established. Give me some credit, here. When the cast if off Ruff, and if she turns out to be house-trained, well, then she can stay out at night. Maybe."

"Don't push it," Ellison warned, and went to close down the house for the night.

**SUNDAY**

They had pancakes in the morning. Sandburg made a triple batch. Dog loved them, cat deigned to eat the middle out of one butter-soaked round which her friend the dog finished off for her. Sandburg and Ellison managed to put away a fair amount themselves. Although Ellison and the dog had been out first thing, the group made another outing after breakfast, taking along the cat. Cat liked riding in the crook of Sandburg's arm, tail sometimes flicking up into Blair's face, claws sometimes sinking down into Blair's arm. In this case. long-sleeved flannel made a lot of sense. Dog liked walking along the alley, nose down.

Sandburg kept saying things like, "What's she smelling now?"

Ellison would dial it up, make a face and say, "There's a dead fish somewhere in there," or "Somebody doesn't do a good job wrapping their diapers," or "I dunno, but that _stinks_!"

"She likes it," Sandburg said with more enthusiasm than a man should have to put up with from his partner.

"She's a dog."

"I guess that does say it all. Hello," he added as they passed a woman walking a big boxer cross down the other side of the alley. She gave them a wary look and walked faster.

Sandburg looked after her, frowning. "Do we look frightening? Really? It's broad daylight"

"Hey, two guys in an alley, it doesn't have to look frightening. And I'm, you know. Big."

"Never realized what you had to put up with, really. Honestly, women never reacted to _me_ that way. Very few people cross the street at the sight of me. Hair? Size? My face? I dunno, does it make that much difference? I mean look at us. We have a cat and a skinny dog. Where's the threat?"

"Can't see the cat on your arm very well. You could be holding anything. I know guys who cradle an Uzi that way. And your dog here is skinny, but she looks different. Not like your average dog, really, so she becomes an unknown factor."

"And different is dead, as the old saying goes." Sandburg sighed. "This is sort of like the way people treat you once you're a cop. Once they _know_ you're a cop, I mean. There's a couple of people whose friendship survived the diss disaster who only started treating me differently once I got my badge. I knew intellectually, I mean, who could live with my mom and not know how a big segment of the public looks at cops? But if I had actually been writing that closed society paper I'd know a lot more now about what questions to ask, how to approach it. The police are needed but they aren't loved, and society doesn't turn against the individuals, really, but they don't welcome them, either, glad as they might be to be defended. Easy to see why police turn to the organization for their social acceptance, and why it becomes more important. Why they start turning from other friends and hanging with other officers. Then society sees this social construct as something that closes them out and they react to that, too. It's a classic cycle."

Ellison, who was uncomfortable even thinking about the dissertation fiasco, much less talking about it, found to his relief that the dog had chosen this moment to add to the redolence of the alley. At least it was easy to drop the bagged results into the nearest dumpster. They walked on, but the cat got restless and wiggled a lot and they turned back.

"We need to go down the alleys in the morning, Monday." Ellison said into the silence. Sandburg, of course, knew which of their many cases he was referring to. He almost always knew.

"Yeah, I was thinking that. And on foot, too. Maybe we should walk the dog over there some mornings. Make us look like we had a legitimate reason to be there. Kill two birds with one stone." Sandburg reached down and rubbed the long soft ear nearest to him. Dog drew back her lips a little and grinned at him. "God, you look silly that way," he told her fondly.

They went on home and cleaned things. Ellison mopped floors, Sandburg vacuumed everything he could run an attachment over. The animals in their crates looked at him as if he were insane. "Get used to it, guys," Sandburg said as he actually dusted. "If you had opposable thumbs you'd both be press-ganged by now."

"I heard that," Ellison called out.

"Notice he didn't deny it," Sandburg said.

"Sandburg...."

"Hey. What's for dinner?" Sandburg knew when to change the subject. He added, "Keeping in mind last night, and this morning's elegant efforts."

"You're saying you want me to cook."

"We're kind of off our schedule here, so yeah. Your turn."

"Pasta. We have the frozen noodles you like."

"Sounds good. I'm going to go let the animals out."

"While I'm cooking?"

"Sure. Or should we stay in my room until we're called?" Somehow, that didn't appeal to Sandburg and he said, "I'll turn on the TV and we'll be over there. That okay?"

"Don't blame me if there's hairs in the sauce."

"This from a man who ate hot dogs at the ball park last spring, and picked a pine needle from his chili on the last camping trip?"

"Do I need to point out the difference between a pine needle and a dog hair?"

"It's a nice clean dog. Who knows where that pine needle had been?"

"Sandburg, you are not helping here."

"Sorry." Sandburg went and collected his animals. The cat was on his lap, the dog was at this feet. The dog had _tried_ to sit next to him on the couch, but even Sandburg knew better than to encourage that. The dog sighed and climbed down and then sprawled out. She dropped her head on her crossed paws.

"Girl, you are good with the guilt!" Sandburg said with a grin, as he picked up the remote. The dog, who had lifted her head as he spoke, put it down again on his foot.

Sandburg froze, enchanted.

"What's wrong?" Ellison raised his voice from the kitchen.

"Nothing. She's resting her head on my foot. It's like she trusts me. Or likes me. Her faith in people is still intact, despite all she's been through." He flicked his thumb and the TV came on. The dog only twitched an ear. The cat jerked his head up, looked around, then settled down again. His paws tucked up near his chest and his eyes closed.

"Maybe it's just the closest she can get to the cat."

"That's flattering. Not."

After dinner Sandburg decided it was time to introduce the animals to the balcony. Both seemed uncertain what to make of this little bit of outdoors. Jim didn't like the way the dog sniffed inquiringly at the floor boards and so they cut short the moment and all went for a walk again. Dog obligingly squatted even though she plainly had little need to. Cat was finally tired of being carried and wanted to walk, but the cast kept him in Sandburg's arms and complaining bitterly, so the walk was short, too. Sandburg decided on an early night and was in bed by ten thirty.

After Sandburg was asleep, Jim Ellison went quietly into his room and let the dog out of the crate. He sat on a couch, the dog crouched before him, and began to talk to her. She tilted her head to one side. It was a full two hours later when Jim gave her a final pat and led her back to her crate. She wouldn't go in. He pushed harder, his hand on her skinny butt. She pressed back. It was like trying to shove toothpaste back into the tube. He gave up eventually.

"Dammit dog!"

"Wha?" came the muzzy voice from Sandburg's bed.

"Your idiot dog won't go in the crate."

"Oh. Did you take her outside?"

Her heartbeat picked up at the word 'outside,' and Ellison debated mentioning it. But this was no time for tests and lengthy speculations. "I'll take her out," he said, keeping the sigh out of his voice. He got the leash and they went down the stairs and outside, where the dog squatted as soon as they turned the corner into the alley and peed an amount that could only be called generous. Ellison wrinkled his nose and decided that he should be carrying water on these jaunts, to pour over and dilute the piss. He wasn't surprised at all when she showed no more interest in the alley and turned and headed back for the door.

"Smart dog," he said, his hand falling to her head. She grinned, her red tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. Once back home he had to stand while she noisily drank half a bowl of water before he could shove her into her crate. She went this time, curling around into a ball inside, her eyes looking up at him. "Goodnight," he told her, and then wondered at himself for talking to a dog.

"N'Kay?" Sandburg mumbled as Ellison closed the crate door.

"Yeah, Sandburg, everything's fine," he said and then climbed up the stairs to his waiting bed.

**MONDAY**

The next morning they were all up at five and halfway across town dog and all, by six. They split up. Sandburg and dog walked the alleys in one direction, Ellison the other. They met up at seven on a busy corner.

"You know, with a rapist known to be attacking women in alleys, there's still an amazing number of women in the alleys," Sandburg noted as he stopped beside Ellison. "Most of them come out of a building into the alley and head for the street, so it's just the fastest way from the apartment to the bus. But what I find just a bit surprising is the number of working girls still up and plying the trade. Not that they were giving me the eye. Turns out walking with your dog is just as good as walking with your wife to _not_ get you eye contact."

"They probably figure you for somebody who'd suggest something three-way and kinky," Ellison suggested, grinning.

"You are so funny. We're switching sections now?"

"Yeah. Meet you by the clock at eight."

"You want the dog?"

"No. One more thing to have to filter out. By the way? Her name is Sugar."

"Sugar? Gee, Jim, I don't know...."

"I do. Try it out. It's the only thing I've tried that makes her ears prick up."

"You are so going to have to explain this." Sandburg said as he moved away. He went on talking, knowing Jim could hear him. "How did you figure this out? Better question. _When_ did you figure this out? You've been holding out on me, haven't you? Hey. I just figured out another advantage of a dog. People think I'm talking to the dog instead of myself. Cool. I can think of several ways to use this. Think Simon would let her ride along? We could get her an observer's pass."

Ellison, of course, was too far away to answer. So Sandburg just strolled along with the dog, observing everything, which is what he did best anyway. One thing he noticed was that he had more of the sidewalk with a dog. People made a little more effort to give the dog some room-- effort that they didn't always make for people. He also noticed that the briefcases and purses were at a level to do the poor dog a serious head injury and she was careful to weave a little to the left or right to avoid them. She didn't exactly heel, but she kept close to him. And she was glad enough to turn into another alley.

"Good girl, Sugar," he said, and sure enough, Jim was right. Her ears went up. Huh. Sugar. Well, as a name, it didn't have the cachet that Ruffian Dick had, but then again, she _was_ a sweetie and he did believe a name should reflect the qualities of the pet. Or even the person.

The dog stopped to pee, and Sandburg spent the time watching a woman hurry down the alley in front of him. He figured that as long as others were in the alley nobody was going to jump anybody. Wondered if it might be cheaper to put up some surveillance cameras, and stay nearby in a van. Time to do some more research as to the exact times, places and circumstances of each attack. Which meant he needed a map. Which also meant....

When he met up with his partner at the clock he had it all planned out. He explained it as they drove back to the loft. He ran up and crated the dog while Ellison waited in the truck. They talked about the case all the way to work and were ready to touch base with Banks as soon as they got in. Technical services got called in, and they had a meeting just before lunch, where the tech team pointed out all the ways Sandburg's plan would not work and countered with suggestions that had Sandburg waving his hands in the air and expressing some volatile opinions.

Lunch got lost somewhere between meetings. It was six by the time they pulled into their parking place. Sandburg went for the dog, who danced around him impatiently as they headed outside, Ellison let the cat out and then went to start dinner. He set the table, and when Sandburg came in he had him close the animals up in his room and come to the table.

"I have a confession to make," Sandburg said as they dug into the stirfry.

"Yeah?"

"I did some research. About our animals. While we were waiting for the tech team to get there. Checked all the local papers up there for fifty miles around where we found them, lost dog ads, called the radio stations, the sheriff's office, the Dumb Friends. Nobody reported losing those two any time in the last few months."

"I know."

"You know? That I checked, or that nobody's reported them as lost?"

"Both. I knew you checked." His hand gestured towards his ear. Sentinel senses. "I checked last week." He grinned at the look on Sandburg's face.

"You...well, did *you" find anything?"

"No. Either they got lost somewhere else, or nobody cares, or somebody messed up. But it was the right thing to do. Before you got too fond of them."

"Too late."

"I know."

"It's strange, the way things, animals, people, can grab your heart. It doesn't take that much time at all."

"I've noticed that about you," Ellison said solemnly, reaching down to give the table leg a shake, and then ducked when a paper napkin flew his way. When they were almost finished with the meal he said, "Do you want to go jogging?"

"In a word, no. Exactly this moment?" Sandburg added doubtfully, glancing out the window.

"With the dog." Ellison pulled out his trump card. He added, "I want to try an experiment."

"And you warned Sugar about _me_!"

Ellison gave him that one eyebrow raised look. Sandburg looked around for another napkin. "I think she likes you enough that if I let her go and you were a few hundred feet away, she'd run to you. You could see her run."

"It's just part of your keep-Sandburg-in-shape campaign."

"A healthy partner is a protected back. Ask any cop. Besides, I think the dog will love it."

"Somebody is wrapped around a little brindle paw. That's what her color is called, you know. You, Jim Ellison, are in love with a little brindle bitch," dramatically he gestured as he made the pronouncement. The results were so worth it as Ellison choked, snorted, coughed and pounded on the edge of the table for a few moments while he prevented his own early demise from inhaled rice. "And don't tell me you aren't," Sandburg said when it was clear Jim was going to survive.

"We're just friends. Do you want to go or not?" Ellison barked.

"Hey, sure. I'll go," Sandburg said mildly, and got up to take his plate to the sink.

Thirty minutes later the three of them were on their way out the door. The cat was watching them go and lashing his tail, and at least two of them were feeling mildly guilty, because not only had they left the cat behind, they'd left the pooper scooper as well. They jogged over to the park, found an open area, and Sandburg trotted down to the trees about a hundred feet away. When he waved his hand, Ellison let go of the dog, and Sandburg waved his arm and called for her.

Sugar trotted a few steps, squatted, peed a river and looked back at Ellison for praise.

"Good dog," he said weakly. Then, "Go to Sandburg. Go to Blair." Then he felt stupid because how the hell would the dog know who Blair was, or Sandburg either, for that matter. So he raised his voice and said, "Call her. Whistle."

Which Sandburg did. The dog sniffed the grass and, nose down, drifted a little to the left to sniff another patch. Then she looked back over her shoulder again at Ellison, sat down, scratched her ear industriously and glanced over at Sandburg, who was now crouched down and making dog-calling sounds.

"Go on," Ellison said encouragingly. It was getting dark and damn, this was his own brilliant idea. She got up and began to walk in Sandburg's direction. He followed her, and so she circled around until she was beside him, and he gave in and started to jog. When they arrived, Sandburg was standing there, hands on his hips, looking disgusted. Ellison did not laugh.

"Okay," Sandburg said, reaching out and hooking his fingers into the dog's collar, "This time _you_ go out there," he waved. Ellison nodded and trotted off. The dog watched him. When he turned around, Sandburg let go of the dog. She began trotting, shifted her gait as she picked up speed and all at once she was flying towards him, ears tucked back, neck stretched out.

It was like watching a guided missile head towards you. He had time to take a step back and hold up his arm and then he was on his ass on the grass. And it was too bad his hearing was so good because he could hear Sandburg chortling and gasping. He squinted. And pointing. The asshole was also half bent over and pointing.

Ellison scrambled up to his feet. The dog reared up on her hind legs, put her front paws on his shoulders and gave his face a lick. "Get down," he growled, and pushed her away, but his hands passed over her ears softly as he did it because how could you be mad at somebody who obviously liked you so much? Sandburg was loping towards him, as well as he could with those giggles slowing him down.

"You're right. She's beautiful to watch when she runs," Sandburg said as he came up. "Let's do this every night!"

"You are really getting a kick out of this aren't you?"

"This was your idea," Sandburg pointed out smugly.

"Yes, but I can always fall back on the elemental and basic truth that _you're_ the one who wanted the dog and therefore all dog related problems become fundamentally traced back to you. It's all your fault, Sandburg."

"Right," Sandburg agreed, but the tone said he was just humoring the other man. So Jim gave him a shove and Blair shoved back and the dog shoved her shoulder into Blair's thigh, joining in. They roughhoused their way across the park, then clipped the leash to the dog collar and walked sedately back across the street. Sugar, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in that way that made her look like an idiot, squatted at the edge of their usual alley and they waited for her. And waited as she did it again.

"Good dog!" Sandburg praised, but there was a set to his jaw that had Ellison grinning and looking just as idiotic as the dog. Or so Sandburg told him as he stomped off to get the pooper scoop.

"Good dog," Ellison echoed as he rubbed the slick ears. They were on the way up the stairs when they met Sandburg coming down. Ellison cheerfully waved.

Sandburg, for some reason, did not offer a sarcastic retort. Which, as soon as he walked in the door, Ellison understood. He dialed down, wrinkling his nose. Nice fresh cat poop. Which he could either dispose of himself or endure while Sandburg took care of the other problem.

Rock and a hard place. Ellison forced himself to deal with it just to get it out of the loft. He and Sandburg met outside in the hall.

"Hey, man, did you? Thanks!" Sandburg said happily as he followed Ellison in.

"I promise I won't make a habit of it," Ellison said, going to wash his hands, although he'd done so before he'd stepped out.

"You left Sugar out of her crate. Alone in the apartment and she was such a good girl," Sandburg cooed at the dog. Ellison made gentle gagging noises and ignored his partner's onefingered response. Sandburg checked on the cat, scooping him up and carrying him out to where the dog waited.

They settled down to watch some TV, dog on the floor, cat on the Sandburg lap. The phone rang once, and Ellison talked to his brother for a few minutes. From this end it sounded like a touch-base call, with very little to it.

"You didn't tell him about the kids," Sandburg joked, waving dog and cat-wards.

Ellison set the phone down and said, "I'm saving it for some awkward moment when we can't think of much to say."

"Good plan." Sandburg stood up, putting the cat on the couch. "Another early morning tomorrow. Want me to take the dog down for one last walk or do you want to do it just before you go to bed?"

"You do it, because I'm hitting the sack early tonight, too." As the door closed behind Sandburg, Ellison picked up the cat and took him to his cat box. The cat looked at him like he was insane and hobbled over to the futon, clawed his way up the side and curled himself up in the middle of the cover. Ellison grinned and went to wash his hands and brush his teeth. He was already upstairs and in bed when Sandburg and Sugar came back. He listened as Sandburg talked to the dog as he locked up, washed and got ready for bed. And he knew that Sandburg did not put the dog in her crate. Heard them settle down on the futon, Sandburg under the covers, the dog on top of them but at the foot of the bed. He considered saying something, but decided that as Sandburg was the one who would be cleaning anything up, let him try his experiment. He lay there listening to the three heartbeats downstairs, thinking, as he drifted off to sleep, that it was just a little lonely up here.

**TUESDAY**

"Oh, my back," Sandburg said, his hand going behind to rub the sore spot at the base of his spine He had been marking his suggestions for camera locations on the map in front of him but now stopped to stand and try to get the kinks out.

"It's the company you keep, Chief." Ellison said, pulling the map over a little to eye Sandburg's little red check marks. They were allowed six cameras and his partner wanted to make everyone count. Which was why Sandburg had changed the placement of the last one four times.

Rafe, passing by, stopped and put in his two cents. "Too much hot monkey sex, Sandburg?"

"I wish. No, Sugar," Sandburg said, "turns out to be a bed hog. Plus we really need to get her toenails trimmed some more."

"Sugar being your dog. Unless your love life is even stranger than I think. Finally got her named?" Rafe asked.

"Yeah," Ellison nodded. "Her name is Sugar. Of course, _he_ calls her Sugar Honey, Sugar Babe, Sugar Love," Ellison said, obviously echoing and exaggerating-- Sandburg's cooing tones, "Sugar Tart, Sugar Toes, and Sugar Sugar. He sings that part." He sounded very long- suffering.

It didn't embarrass his partner a bit. "She was good all night, though," Sandburg pointed out. "I think she's house-trained."

"I'm grateful," Ellison informed him. "Really I am." He pointed the map. "Why here at the entry of the alley?"

"Don't listen to all his talk. He knows she likes him best," Sandburg said, and then he answered, "because of the sign, which not only has a place to hide the camera, but provides a little light. No place good to put it. Hey, and, did you know what those assholes did?" Sandburg said, directing his comments to Rafe, one hand waving in the air to punctuate his point. "Scheduled us for three in the morning! We have to be up and there at three a.m. The techs will put in the cameras and our job is to make sure no one is close enough to see them do it. That is _so_ not how I want to spend my nights!"

"As opposed to spending them in bed with a dog?" Rafe snickered.

"You're just jealous because _you_ don't have a loyal dog sleeping on the foot of _your_ bed," Sandburg told him kindly, "and you'll notice how good I was, how I refrained from comparing any of _your_ bedmates to dogs, or, even, in fact, bitches, which considering that leetle tiny problem you had last year with the woman who bit you, shows a remarkable restraint on my part."

"Uh huh. But at least I was sharing the bed with a real live breathing woman, Sandburg, while you were, apparently, not."

"That was a year ago, Rafe. You aren't suggesting that was the last time you managed to score, are you? Because, if things are that bad, man, I can tell you where to get a dog or a cat, you know, some company on those long lonely nights."

"Right. Unlike some of us, I prefer companions that can talk."

"You're forgetting Jim. If I want to talk to somebody I go find Jim."

"Jim talks? I thought he just growled occasionally, like the rest of the menagerie," Rafe danced out of the way of an Ellison hand and, not being a fool, kept on going, back to his desk.

"You're going to pay for that," Ellison informed his partner.

"What, teasing Rafe?"

"For not denying the implication that I'm just another one of your pets."

"Hey, HE implied it, not me. I would never say anything like that. Seriously. Really. But, Jim, don't worry! You'll always be my favorite. If only because," he stopped and ducked, but not enough and the edges of Jim's hand thunked him up the side of the head.

Simon leaned out of his door and said, "If you gentlemen are _quite_ done, why don't you bring that," he waved at the paperwork, "into my office."

"Sure thing, Mr. Banks!" Sandburg said with way too much enthusiasm. Ellison gave serious consideration to thunking him again but instead settled for making Sandburg carry all the papers while he merely held open the door. He knew by the look Sandburg gave him that the younger man was well aware of the ploy and was giving him no points.

Simon demanded a full accounting of their progress, wanting an operation plan in writing, instead of having one filed after the fact, which was a deplorable habit his detectives had gotten into lately. The plan detailed the manpower to be used, hours of duty for each person, special armament requested, vehicles needed, equipment requisitioned, other departments notified or involved, and a schedule for reporting in, with a designated channel or radio frequency. He gave them the use of two street cops for four days, but only one vehicle assigned among the four of them.

What he forgot to do was tell Sandburg to leave his dog at home.

They were off work early, since they would be up in the middle of the night. Sandburg protested, swearing that it was too early for a nap. But there he was an hour later, asleep on his futon, dog on one side, cat on the other, mouth open, lightly snoring. Jim Ellison leaned against the door jam, arms crossed, head to one side, and watched him.

Watched them all for a very long time before he turned and climbed up the stairs. He stood at the top, looking around. It wasn't the best place for a nap in the afternoon, the skylight flooding the place with the maximum amount of light. It was nothing at all like the small cave underneath him. But he hadn't slept all that well the last few nights, and he stretched out on the bed, reached out with his senses, grounded himself by listening to the heartbeats below him, and drifted into sleep almost at once.

He woke up two hours later to the click click of dog nails on the floor, and listened to the inelegant sounds of a dog at her water bowl. He checked the clock and got up, put on his shoes and went softly down the stairs. Sandburg and Ruffy Dick were dead to the world. The dog looked at him and went to stand by the door. He went and got her leash and they went out. The dog did her usual thing promptly and accepted her praise with her eyes squinted shut and her tongue lolling out. They headed back briskly, Jim and the dog both mostly thinking about dinner.

"What a fine greyhound!"

Ellison paused. The words had come from a stout old man standing at the entrance to the alley. The man rather ponderously went down on one knee, holding out his hand for Sugar to sniff. She obliged him and gently waved her tail as he moved his hand up to fondle her ears.

"I've lost a few dollars on your brothers and sisters in my time, old girl." He looked up at Ellison, "Is she a retired racer?"

"No, just a pet," he answered.

"There are programs that let you adopt a retired greyhound. Always meant to get one, but the missus never cared for the idea. I figured, retired man, retired dog. Good match," the man said. He pushed himself up from the ground using the wall but he gave the ears another rub.

"The wife didn't like the thought of house training, you know."

"Yeah. Can hardly wait for her first mistake," Ellison said, looking down at the dog.

"Well...look. She's a beauty. You ever want to get rid of her, give me a call," the man said, his hands poking about from pocket to pocket until he found a pen and a square of paper. He wrote his name and phone number down and thrust it at the other man. "Wife's gone now, and it's damn lonely. Might as well get a dog, like I always said I wanted," he added gruffly.

Ellison took the paper, folded it and slid it into a pocket. "Doubt we'll want to get rid of her," he said, surprised to find that it was true. .

"Maybe I'll start checking the pound. If I had a dog I'd get off my butt and walk more, like the doctor told me to do." The man gave her a last pat and said, "Thanks," and moved slowly on.

Sandburg and the cat were up. He saw them in the kitchen as he unclipped the dog from her leash and hung up his jacket and the leash. The cat was looking up expectantly, staring up at Sandburg's hands as the man sliced chicken.

"Fajitas okay?" Sandburg asked, looking up.

"Uh huh."

"Good, cause that's what I've made. Thanks for taking the dog out."

Ellison grinned. "No problem. She made a friend. Old man who wanted to know if we wanted to get rid of her. He wants a dog, likes greyhounds. Lives alone and wants the company."

"What...did you say?" Sandburg asked, slowly putting down his knife.

"Said no thanks." He watched the happiness flow back into Sandburg's face and knew he was doomed to pet ownership for eternity. "I got his name, though. Thought I'd do a background check. If he's okay, maybe he'd be interested in coming over every day after lunch Walk the dog, check the food and water."

Sandburg nodded. "Did he look okay?" He knew how Jim felt about home and castle. Couldn't have just anyone in.

"Yeah. Smelled right, too. No eau-de-alcoholic, or anything odd. He said his doctor wanted him to walk. We could pay him something."

"Looked like he needed it?"

Ellison nodded. As he watched, Sandburg slipped a morsel of chicken down to the dog, who has joined the cat at his feet. He suddenly realized why the cat was being so attentive.

"Sandburg!"

But Sandburg wasn't paying attention to him. He was watching the dog take her sliver of food over to the cat. She sat down, cat between her long legs, and dropped it in front of him. Then she watched him down her long nose as he started to pull off bits of it and eat.

"Shit, Jim, that is the most maternal animal I have ever seen. I'm rethinking my 'Two Buddies' scenario and going with 'Sugar Momma and Substitute Baby,' and that's cute," he added as Sugar's long tongue lapped up the bits of food that had hit the floor, and then gave the cat one long lick that knocked him over onto his side.

"New House Rule. Don't feed the animals in the kitchen. Or at the table."

"Okay," Sandburg said amiably, and Ellison knew that house rule would be respected and followed about as well as any of the others. He snorted. Sandburg grinned.

"I'll go wash up," was all Ellison said.

They had supper, cleaned up, went to the gym, where Ellison spotted Sandburg on a new machine. He stood, looking down, noting the increased definition in Sandburg's muscles, the new breadth of the shoulders. The way the sweat gathered. It trickled erratically, pinballing through the forest of chest hair before gravity and the curve of the ribs sent it cascading down his side.

He drew in the scent of it with every breath and thought to himself, I am in so much trouble here. Then he forced himself to not think about it. Thought instead about monitoring Sandburg's heartbeat and respiration. Realized that he could hear when muscles fibers were reaching their limit. Decided not to distract Sandburg by mentioning it. Save that for some dull stakeout when they needed conversation to keep them awake.

They showered and went home, where they sat in front of the tv, dog at their feet, and watched old cop shows until it was time to go. They got ready, and Ellison didn't think anything of it when the leash came out and Sandburg clicked it onto the dog's collar, because she needed a last walk before bed. But once downstairs and after she had watered the small patch of dirt that she favored, Sandburg led her towards the truck.

"You're taking the dog?" Ellison asked, surprised.

"Hey, except for walking the dog, if someone sees us, what excuse do we have for being out at three in the morning? Besides, she wants to go, don't you Sugar?"

Sugar's hard tail waved back and forth, hitting the wall with a thunk-thunk-thunk

Ellison didn't say anything else, just shrugged, climbed into the truck and started it. They drove through the darkened streets. They were at their most deserted, and a light rain was falling intermittently. They arrived before the techs and walked up one alley and down another, dog in tow or in some cases, being towed by the dog, who was finding the scents of this new alley terrifically intriguing. When the panel truck finally arrived, the four men consulted briefly and then Sugar towed Sandburg to one end of the alley and Ellison took the other. Half an hour later they were one block up, doing the same. They had a six block area with six likely locations targeted.

The dog was left in the truck and she seemed indignant about that, too and they all crowded into the panel truck to look at the six monitors and decide if any changes needed to be made in the angle and placement. Deciding it was all okay, they all stayed and did a test run, watching the monitors. Sandburg had a lot of questions at first. Eventually, however, they were reduced to silently watching the screens and fighting back yawns.

"That is really disgusting," Sandburg said, as, for the third time that night he had to watch someone urinating against a brick wall. "I didn't know people spent so much time peeing in alleys."

"I knew," Ellison said, giving his nose a quick rub.

"Yeah, you see everything on these monitors," Ed Volk, the bigger of the techs, said. "Only almost none of the really good stuff."

Sandburg, who wanted to make some anthropological references in the worst way, closed his mouth firmly. He was wishing he was alone with Jim so that he could make the comments he wanted to make about tribes and marginal members.

"You don't even want to know what he considers the good stuff," said the other tech, Emma Lees.

Ellison didn't say a word. His partner hit him in the arm and said, "I need to move. It can't take four of us to do this. I'll walk Sugar around for a little while."

"Yeah, but then don't come back here. We have a cover to maintain, Sandburg," Ellison told him. "We'll pull out at eight and meet you over at the Pancake House."

"Cool. Sugar loves pancakes,"

Sandburg gave him the 'I'm not stupid, you know,' look about the cover maintenance crack, and eased out the back door and down the street to the truck. Sugar was glad to see him and unfolded herself from the seat and sprang to the ground gracefully. Sandburg decided to walk the perimeter of the six block area they were watching. Dawn was turning the east side of the city a lighter grey as they finished their second trip around.

The dog's head came up, her ears pricking, head turning.

Was that a scream?

Sandburg headed out at a run, pounding across the street at breakneck speed, the dog jerking on the leash as she guessed wrong about which direction Sandburg was headed. They stumbled at the curb and then headed down the alley. He thought any crime site would be in the middle of the alley, in the darkest part, but instead it was only a few yards from the mouth of it, and so he and the dog were right in the middle of it before he knew it. There was a girl on the ground, and a man bending over her, and Sandburg yelled out, "Jim!" and he dropped the leash to pull out his gun.

"Cascade Police. Stand up, slowly." He said it in his best cop voice. Maybe he needed to work on the voice, because the man lurched, pushed at Sandburg's leg to throw him off balance as he dashed for the street.

Running things almost always cause greyhounds to run after them, and Sugar took off, Sandburg a poor third in the race. There was more light as they reached the street, and Sandburg could see that the perp was about his age, that his face, turned back over his shoulder, was filled with hate and anger, and his hand was fumbling under his coat for something. That was a bad sign. When he turned the corner, Sandburg could see the man had a knife in his hand.

Then the dog growled, the man looked down and saw flashing teeth and was distracted enough to stumble. Sugar ran headlong into him, yelped, and her legs went out from under her. The man went down too, the knife flying out of his hand to slide, spinning, down the street. The dog scrambled up and barked at the man, her butt in the air as she made tiny little lunges in his direction.

"Sugar! No!" Sandburg shouted. She hesitated, and Sandburg pulled her back behind him, shoved his gun in his belt and grabbed up his handcuffs, his knee landing on the guy's back in case he decided to get up. "You have the right to remain silent," he began, working hard to get the cuff fastened. He heard the sound of running feet. "Over here!" he yelled. He finished the warning and tested the cuffs at the same time, then pulled the guy to his feet.

Ellison arrived, glanced over the scene and turned back, running up the alley to the victim. Sandburg grabbled up the leash, slipped it over his wrist, dug out his phone.

"I've already called for back-up. Call an ambulance," Ellison shouted.

The perp edged back a step. The dog growled.

Sandburg said, "Don't even think about it." Maybe he was talking to the captive, but maybe it was to the dog. Both of them slumped down and went silent.

The ambulance came and took away the lady, the police car came and took away the man and Ellison said, "Good job, Sandburg," and they went to the surveillance van and decided to leave the cameras in place for a day just in case this was a copycat crime or a domestic that had nothing to do with the case. Then they got in the truck and drove to the station, where Sandburg and Ellison did interviews and paperwork, and Sugar got to be cooed over, patted and fed donuts.

It was almost ten in the morning when the truck pulled into the parking lot at last and they got out. Sugar made a generous pee donation in the alley and then they crowded into the elevator, which was working for once.

They had the cat box to do and the animals to feed and they decided not to fix anything to eat until they had a little sleep. Didn't even fight over the shower, both of them leaving it for later.

"Oh, man," Sandburg said, as he stood at his dresser stripping down to his boxers, "look at this," and Ellison stopped at the doorway to look over his shoulder.

Sugar was stretched out on Sandburg's bed, her head on his pillow, her cat curled up against her stomach. The picture was calendar cute. Sandburg was grinning but Ellison shook his head.

"No room there. You'd better come upstairs and sleep with me," Ellison said. And then went very still, as if surprised at what had come out of his mouth.

"Okay," Sandburg said and he went in, patted Sugar's head as he pulled the second pillow out from under the one she was using, then he grabbed his glasses case, turned out the light and closed the door. Pillow under his arm he started up the stairs, and after a moment of hesitation, Ellison followed.

Sandburg climbed into the bed on the far side, plumped up his pillow, and settled down.

"You..." Ellison began, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Then he tried again. "I...."

Sandburg looked up.

Ellison tried again. "This is...I mean...." He frowned down at the floor. "I'm...." Words vanished again and his lips thinned in frustration.

"It's okay. I figured it out. I've known it since you said we could have the dog and the cat. You gotta face it, man. You love me."

Ellison didn't say anything as he finished undressing and climbed into bed. He didn't say anything when Sandburg scooted closer. He did make a little sound when the solid roundness of Sandburg's butt touched his thigh.

"The good thing is, I love you, too. So now all we have to do is figure out what we want this to encompass. Totally any way you want it, Jim. Whatever you're comfortable with. I mean, it was never anything you were expecting, I know. Took me by surprise, too. But it's no stranger than Sugar and Ruffian being friends and when they ended up here, I figured it was a sign that...mph!" Jim's mouth was on his, and he found he had nothing else he wanted to say.

Downstairs, the dog twitched an ear at the funny sound, and lifted her head. She reached down and gave the cat a lick, blinked twice and let her head fall to the pillow again. Her eyes closed in contentment.

* * *

End Where Friendship Takes You by Tazy: alihotsy@gimmefic.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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